


Blue Lips, Blue Veins

by romanoff



Series: Blue Lips, Blue Veins [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: #rhodeyappreciation, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Depression, DreamVision, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Extremis, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt Tony Stark, Hydra (Marvel), Kid Fic, M/M, Terrorism, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-02-05 02:32:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 145
Words: 300,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1802140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanoff/pseuds/romanoff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark is Iron Man.</p>
<p>Before that, he was an man with bigger heart than brain. Before that, he was an asshole with a bigger mouth than sense. And before that, he was was a scared little boy. Not that it matters. Stark's always have had iron in their backbone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story is going to be long as b a l l s. There's no way I'll be able to tag everything that's going to happen but please be aware of dubious consent, implied spousal abuse, actual spousal abuse (both man and woman), kids being neglected, shit parents, substance abuse IN ALL FORMS among other things. I will mention in the chapter summary if I feel there's something particularly noteworthy but apart from that please be aware.
> 
> This is going to track Tony's life from the age of six right up till after Captain America: The Winter Soldier, which is where it slips into au, or you know, my own plot. I've taken a lot of liberties with filling in the gaps of Tony's life. You don't have to agree with what I've written and this is all personal headcanon but if you do feel I've written something violently out of character please tell me so I can figure it out.
> 
> Also, a note on Jarvis: I know in comics he's an old man but in this canon I've changed it a bit. It will become more apparent as the story goes on why, but for now I just picture him as Paul Bettany.
> 
> Anyway, this is start, and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if you get a notification for this i'm sorry, this chapter deleted because i'm an idiot and i had to re-upload

When Tony Stark, age zero years, zero months, zero days, and zero minutes came screaming into the world on the 29th of May, 1970, it was a bright, sunny day in Manhattan, New York. 

Brought into the world by some of the cities finest doctors and nurses, from the very start, he was inducted into a life of comfort and luxury.

His father waited anxiously in the corridor, preferring to leave the business of childbirth to his wife. Seeing her in such a state could potentially damage their professional relationship, and instead he paced up and down, gnawing at his nails, as he waited for the sex of the child to be revealed.

When Tony Stark, age zero years, zero months, zero days, and zero minutes came screaming into the world, his mother would not hold him and his father got drunk.

 

It was not the first attempt.

Maria and Howard, in the early days of their marriage, had once been in love.

Not deeply in love. Not the sort of love that gets songs written in it’s honour. Not man and woman, together, into the sunset. Howard, after the traditional period of courtship, had admitted that women were not hit forte. But that he had money. And that was something she wanted.

They shared a companionship. Ambition. A certain greed for power. Howard, older and not young as he used to be, had seen in Maria more than voluptuous curves and ruby lips, more than the olive skin and the ebony hair, he had seen a wit and raw intelligence, a characteristic he admired in anyone, particularly his soon to be 'wife'.

And Maria, young and beautiful, had seen in Howard, a man old enough to be her father, a chance to escape her own domineering family. A chance for power, for something else. A strong character, she had always known what she wanted. She was Italian. A staunch catholic, when she chose to be. 

A whirlwind romance. A marriage. Howard Stark, semi-eligable bachelor, was off the market, and hundreds of greedy socialites wept into their martinis as Maria Collins Carbonell, Italian nobody and daughter of a criminal, swept away with the main prize.

Not that the deal was sealed, obviously. Howard needed something first.

Maria had no idealistic ideas about why exactly Howard had married her. She knew what he wanted, and it wasn’t her smarts. She was young, attractive. Howard needed an heir. From the start, an unwritten contract of sorts was drawn up between them: ‘I can give you what you want if you can give me a son.'

Maria had no interest in children. She was young and the idea of being pulled down by a child, a screaming, crying, puking child, did not appeal. The idea of her life being put on hold was not one that she had interest in. She married Howard for the status, for the chance to do something right by her life. Charity was her passion, a strange choice, maybe, for a woman so shrewd. But she followed the values by which she had been raised.

To be honest, the only other way she was going to get out was to become a nun.

When she had felt the first baby swell inside her, like a cancerous growth, Maria had panicked. She did not, could not, would not, have this child. She could not give her life to this baby. She was too young, and Howard was too old, and he drank too much, and they would both be terrible parents. It was a bad, bad, idea.

Two months later, when she woke up with bloody sheets and a burning in her gut, she felt ill, so so incredibly ill, and evil, that the only emotion she could conjure up was relief.

But Howard had been kind. It had brought them together, that first failure, the child that never was. Maria planted a tree in their garden, in the back, right by the spot where she would sometimes read in the summer, so that in the coming years she could rest under the shade.

“We can try again,” Howard had assured her, as if that was supposed to be a comfort, a reassurance we’ll try again, even though Maria did not want this.

In the mean time, she set up the Maria Stark Foundation. It tackled poverty abroad, mostly, in the developing countries, but very quietly offered aid to woman escaping abusive relationships.

After that, Howard’s drinking got heavier. Always a steady drinker, in the summer of 1961, he took a downward turn. Maria made allowances.

Howard killed people for a living. She wouldn’t begrudge him his method of escape. Life was stressful, for him, always had been. She was not their to offer comfort.

The next attempt ended in a child carried to six months. This time, it was far along enough to go into labour, and she gave birth to a very dead little boy.

Howard was not so forgiving. He was not cruel, and he never blamed her, but the loss of the son that could have been jarred something inside him. After the customary period of comfort was done, he began to drink more. Work took up too much time. Sometimes, he would be gone for days, and Maria wouldn’t know where he was, or what he was doing. Men started to visit the house on ‘private business’, and Howard would drink and drink and drink until the morning, when they would slip out the front door, sometimes giving Maria a knowing tilt of the head or a sly smile.

The third baby was carried to term.

It was an easy birth, and Maria, even after seven years, did not feel ready to have this baby. She did not want it. But holding her daughter in her arms for the first time, she felt something so profound.

It was like a light. There was a light inside her chest, and it was blooming. 

Every little gurgle, every tiny whine. She kept counting her fingers, her toes, everything about her little baby girl, so perfect in every single way.

They had taken her home, and even Howard had been happy. He had, for the first time in years, slung his arm over her shoulder. He was disappointed, yes, he had admitted, but there was always next time. And their little girl was so perfect it didn’t matter anyway. For two days, Howard Stark was the ideal of a doting father.

Their daughter never got a name, though, because when Maria went to pick her up the next morning she was dead.

Maria had cried. She had wept. And Howard, he had gotten so, so drunk.

She hated him. Maria hated him. He drank and drank while she cried and cried, and he turned cruel, so easily, he switched, his usual affable humour and charisma lost under a sea of vodka and delusion.

“I’m glad,” he slurred, spitting over the table “I’m fucking glad she’s dead, so she didn’t have to put up with you as a fucking mother.” And then he had downed his glass in one, and flung it at the wall where it narrowly missed her head.

After that, life slowly descended into hell.

Maria was stubborn, but so was Howard. Neither could see eye to eye. They began to despise one another.

Yet neither of them ever filed for divorce. Howard got older, Maria grew more desperate, and as her biological clock ticked down Howard grew crueler and crueler. He would apologise, afterwards, always. Because he had a problem. Because he was under pressure. Sometimes, after an argument, there would be days of peace, where they would sit together, where there were no fights. It was during these times that Howard would try again to conceive a child while she lay there, like a thing, nothing more, and let him.

He never hit her. Maria did not care. She grew up on the streets where marital violence was an accepted part of life. She almost wanted him too, if only because she could slap him back.

One night, Howard had got drunk. Very drunk. And he had left, run away, driven off into the night. Maria didn’t stop him, because if he died then she would inherit the fortune.

He nearly did. He was saved by a man, young, an ex-soldier who had served in Vietnam. He was living on the streets at the time, he had no family, he explained. And Howard, always impulsive, always with that twisted vein of kindness that endeared Maria to him at the very start, hired him on the spot.

Edwin Jarvis, he said his name was, and he said he was from England, originally. A little village in the south. He had emigrated to the US in the hopes of finding his fortune, of chasing the American dream of which Howard was so fond. Maria had laughed, because her family too had come in the hopes of finding a better life, only to be dragged into the seedy underbelly of New York.

Maria was the clever one in her family.

But Edwin had fallen on hard times. Young, and without money, he had enlisted. Vietnam, he had hoped, would be an adventure. Surely, Maria had asked, you couldn’t have been that naive. And Edwin Jarvis had shrugged and said that the alternative was worse. You have to make the best of a bad situation, he had said with wisdom beyond his years, because otherwise living is pointless.

Jarvis was a few years younger than Maria, and he made life bearable.

With Jarvis in the house, Howard stopped drinking so readily. He toned down the arguments. They formed an uneasy peace. Howard was fond of him, and they became good friends. Ever paranoid in his old age, Jarvis was one of the few people Howard claimed he could trust.

And so finally, in the August of 1969, Maria conceived one last time.

She and Howard, with tentative hope, were drawn together by the small miracle inside her stomach.

Whereas before she had feared having a child, having to give up her life, that was now no longer the case. She longed for a baby, she was desperate for a chance to raise a little girl, a little girl like her beautiful baby, the one she had lost. And in the back of her mind, she knew that this baby would not be that one, that this was no substitute. But Howard was happy. He stopped drinking, that summer. They did not pretend to be in love, but they were able to re-kindle the friendship, and then ambition, that had tied them together.

 

It took a while to decide on a name. For a while, before the birth, Tony was not Tony. He was Howard Jr. And then he was Antonio. And then, after the idea that the child could conceivably be a girl crossed Howard’s mind, he was Natasha. And then Elizabeth.

Eventually, there was compromise.

“If it’s a girl,” Howard had said, smiling over his amber glass “then you get to pick. Square deal, Maria.”

And Maria had spat.

“Bah,” she had said with a coy grin stretched out over red lips “the child will be saddled with your name, Howard, no matter what. I get pick of the crop.”

“Honey,” Howard had said in the deprecating way he was so fond of “if it’s a girl, the name’s gonna change anyhow. That’s not gonna matter, then. You pick, either way.”

“You have no interest in a daughter, Howard,” Maria’s accented voice had lilted, as it was prone to do when under strain “so I choose the son. I’m the one doing to work, honey, you try squeezing a water melon from your tight little ass and then we’ll see if you’d be keen for it to take an American name.” She took a deep drag of her cigarette, one hand poised gently on her swollen belly.

“An American name?” Howard had raised an eyebrow “what’s wrong with a good, strong name? Kid’s gonna be up to it in crap, Maria, he’s gotta’ be strong. No namby-pamby crap, come on, be reasonable.”

Maria had stood firm, stubborn. “My child,” she says “mine. I’ll choose the name,” another long drag “Antonio, if it’s a boy, like my brother. Natasha if it’s a girl.”

Howard had snorted. “Antonio’s a fucking waster and Natasha sounds like a prostitute.”

Maria had fixed him with cool eyes. Of course Howard thought that. Howard, like many other things about her, chose to ignore her native country as another blip in the road. He ignored the fact that this child would be more Italian than American, if Maria had her way.

“Honey, if it’s a girl,” she drawled “you’re going to be pimping her out as soon as she hits eighteen. Let’s not pretend you have the moral high ground.”

“It won’t be a girl,” Howard had said, confidently “I know it. But if it is, then she can be Natasha.”

There’s something unspoken between them, about the baby, the first baby that they brought home and never saw grow up.

She would be five, now.

“And if it’s a boy,” Maria had continued “it will be Antonio. Antonio Stark.”

Howard had snorted, downed a small glass of amber liquid. “If it’s a boy,” he said “then he’ll get a good, strong name. One that I can be proud of.”

Maria had arched an eyebrow. “So you decided on Howard? You want a good, strong name and you chose your own?”

Howard had frowned. “That, you’re insulting me.”

“Caro Dio,” she had rolled her eyes “dear God, Howard.”

They decided on Anthony. Worthy of praise. A good, strong name.

 

It was a difficult birth. Very, very difficult. Maria spent 48 hours on that bed, the contractions tearing her apart, screaming while Howard paced outside. This baby was a monster, it wasn’t coming out and Maria thought, she was scared, she thought maybe that she was going to die because the pain was so intense and nobody did anything, there was too much risk, too much risk of the babies life.

Howard was willing to let her die if it meant getting a shot at a son. And it didn’t surprise her but goddam if she was going to die like this, sweating and bleeding and screaming while her husband drank martini’s from the hospital suite’s private bar.

Dear God, she was going to die, she had thought she was going to die. She felt like every part of her was tearing, and the nurses kept wiping her brow and feeding her ice and telling her to push, push, push and she screamed at them in her own language, coarse and undignified. There was no room for dignity in childbirth.

“Get it out!” She screamed “Get it out of me!”

She heard people talking, heard the doctors murmuring, as someone fed her ice chips. She heard her husbands voice as she writhed, “Howard!” She screamed “get this thing out of me!”

“You’re crowning!” Someone had shouted, and Maria had been exhausted, she had been so tired, and the nurses told her to push, one last time, just push, and so with a final, monumental effort she pushed the baby from her sweaty, bloody body, and he slid into the world, his first moments captured inside a humid, sweaty hospital suite, heavy with the stench of birth.

“It’s a boy!” The doctors had said “It’s a healthy boy, Mrs Stark.”

And Maria, exhausted, and broken down, and wrung out, had cried because she did not want a boy, she did not want an Anthony, she wanted her girl, all she wanted was her little girl and this had all been for nothing, her last chance and she had blown it, she had screamed here for days and all she had to show was a child, a little boy, who would grow up to be just like his father, an American warmonger, and Maria sobbed, screamed, she wouldn’t hold him, he was not hers.

The next thing she remembers is lying in a different bed somewhere in their suite, and Howard is sitting beside her in his chair, the little boy in his arms, and he’s smiling, grin stretched wide across his face. “Jarvis went home,” he said “he’s getting everything ready, we’ll have a party, we need to celebrate.” Howard said, eyes fixed intently on the thing in his arms.

“No party,” Maria had said, voice hoarse “no party, Howard.”

He had frowned. “Maria,” he started “sweetie—”

“No party!” She had spat “I don’t want a party, I don’t want one, I want my baby, Howard, I want my baby, I don’t—”

“Here,” Howard said, quickly “here, take him, look at him,” and he pushed him forward, tried to lever him into her arms. 

She had backed away “Don’t.” She had said, eyes screwed shut “I don’t want him,” she hissed “I don’t, I won’t,” she gasped “he’s not my child, he’s yours, he’s yours!”

Howard looked at her, eyes wide. “Maria,” he said quietly “what the fuck is this. What are you doing, hold him. He is your son, what is wrong—”

“I don’t want him!” She had screamed “get him away from me! Get away from me! All of you, leave, I don’t—”

The baby had started to wail, Howard wasn’t holding him right, his little arm was pressed tight against his chest as he made a shrill noise of discomfort.

“You’re delirious,” he said, coldly “you need to sleep.”

“I don’t need to sleep,” she had cried, hysterical “I don’t need sleep, I don’t want that baby, he’s not mine — Doctor!” She screamed “Doctor, take it away, I don’t want it, I don’t want it—”

They sedated her, after that. A few days later, a nurse talked about the birthing blues in a calm, warm voice, talked about how it had been a difficult birth, she was all shaken up, but if she would just hold her child she would see that he wasn’t evil, he was just a baby, that it wasn’t his fault that the birth had been so troublesome.

Maria doesn’t care. She spits in the woman’s face an crosses her arms. It’s Howard’s baby and she wants no part of it. She wants no part in a baby that will grow up to be a monster, just like his daddy.

One day, some months after the birth, Jarvis isn’t home. She didn’t know why, he just wasn’t, and Howard was at work, and even if he hadn’t been it’s not like he would have helped. But the baby is crying. And crying. And crying. And Maria is trying to play the piano and she can hear it down the corridor, screaming and screaming and screaming and it won’t shut up. She jams her fingers into the keys, plays an ugly, discordant melody, and the baby continues to bawl.

Eventually, she stands in front of the cot, looking down. It’s face is crumpled and wet, it’s still crying, and Maria wonders vaguely if anyone has fed it yet. It’s almost breathless, face turning blue with exertion, and Maria feels sorry for it, in a disconnected way. It’s not fair to have had this baby, to bring it into a world with an alcoholic father and depressed, insane mother. 

The baby keeps screaming and Maria keeps watching.

She feels disconnected entirely, like she’s walking though a dream. She wants to let it scream. Let it scream and scream and if it’s still alive when Jarvis gets back then well, so be it. 

It would be so easy to just bring a pillow down over it’s face.

It coughs. Drags in a deep shaky breath. It’s eyes crack open and it mewls pathetically, legs shifting and fists clenching.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair for either of them. Maria does not want this baby.

But it’s not his fault.

They have a common enemy, she realises, her and this boy. She has to protect him. She has to stop Howard from sinking in her claws before it’s too late. She needs to stop this boy from growing up to be just like that man, a war monger, broken, and empty inside. Maria starts to cry.

She cries because she is alone, because there is no one who loves her. Her family abandoned her and she hasn’t said ‘I love you’ to her husband since their wedding night. If she died, nobody would care. She cries because this baby is equally alone, because if she doesn’t do something, if she does not help him, no one else ever will. Because Howard is a drunk and a fanatic and it’s own mother was contemplating his own murder just moments ago.

It’s not fair. None of this is fair.

The baby coughs, drags in a shaky breath. Opens it’s mouth to bawl.

She picks up her son.


	2. Part One

When Tony was 6 years old he attended church with his mother on Sunday mornings. He remembers the leather seats in the chauffeur driven car, the acrid smell of smoke from her cigar, and being pressed against her side.

He can’t remember the occasion but he can pinpoint the swirl of her skirt, the smell of her perfume and the way she slid silk gloves over delicate fingers. The pearls that lay on her throat. On those mornings they would eat together, his mother spreading strawberry jam over fresh bread. He can actually still taste the bitter orange juice. He hated drinking it, hated the lumpy pulp and bits that he had to force down, but did it anyway. His mother would sit opposite him, smoking. Most mornings there was a surreptitious glass of amber liquid filled mostly with ice by her side.

Tony would sit on the hard pews while his mother looked ahead, eyes focused on the methodical movements of the priest. Other members of New York’s high society would sit around them dutifully repeating the words given to them.

Sometimes, on the drive back to the mansion, his mother would ask him about his week, how he was. She would test him on his prayers, on Italian phrases, and Tony would answer. Then she would smile, call him ‘tesero’ and turn her head to look out the window.

Those were good days.

On bad days, when they got back to the car, she would sit facing ahead, cigarette on her lips, glass in hand.

 

It starts like this.

Tony Stark is six years old and playing with his cars in the shaded area with the trees in his mother’s garden. It’s summer, early June, and the leaves are casting shade over his work. He’s trying to get the cars to take off at the same time but he can’t. He’s thinking maybe that he needs some rope or something to make into a catapult because he only has two hands and he can’t make the cars all take off at once without some extra help. He's doing math in his head, momentum and velocity and speed but it doesn't matter because he hasn't got any elastic to make it with.

He thinks he might have lost track of the time because he hears the sound of his mother’s voice and her soft footprints on the grass. He remembers that he was supposed to go to Jarvis to get ready for the thing that’s happening tonight and now he knows his mom is gonna tell him off even though it wasn’t really his fault.

He pretends not to hear her voice in the hope that she might leave and realises that she’s not alone. There’s another adult with her, a large guy with thick shaggy brown hair and a big beard who reminds Tony of the bear in the picture book his uncle got him on hunting. Tony looks up, cars forgotten, because it looks like his mom is coming to talk to him and he is curious because her mouth is pinched together like it goes when dad drinks at breakfast on Sundays or Tony forgets the first line of the hail Mary.

The big man crouches down onto one knee in the grass and points at Tony’s cars, one hand fixed on his knee. “What you doing there, M’boy?” He asks, smiling and using that quiet voice that adults use when they talk to kids.

Tony sniffs. “Racing cars.” He says, rolling the wheels of Red car over his hand. “But I’m gonna make a catapult,” he explains “so I can make all of them go off at the same time.”

The man laughs and mom rolls her eyes where he can’t see. He ruffles Tony’s hair. “He’s a chip of the old block, Maria,” he says, grinning “just like his old man.”

Now mom’s lips get really pinched into a tight line and she holds her hands in front of her black dress. “He sure is,” she says, using the same voice she uses for the newspapers. “Honey,” she says, looking at Tony robotically “this is Obadiah Stane. He’s going to be helping your dad out with the business, so you’ll be seeing him around a lot from now on.” Mom doesn’t sound very happy about that fact.

Tony blinks. He knows that ‘business is tight’ because he’s heard his dad talking to Jarvis, but he doesn’t know why and he doesn’t know what Roxxon is either. He figures that Obadiah must be here to help dad with the money stuff because Jarvis says that his dad is real clever with making things but he’s not so great at ‘the finances.’ He’s happy that Obie has come to help because his mom and dad fight more when dad is working hard.

“That’s cool,” Tony says, playing with the grass. 

“You’re right, it is very cool,” Obie says, solemnly and Tony giggles.

“Come on, Anthony,” mom says, taking his hand “we need to get you ready.”

Tony frowns because mom isn’t going to get him ready, Jarvis is, but he’s clever enough not to point it out. “Say bye to Mr Stane.”

“Bye Mr Stane.” Tony says, waving and wiping down the grass from his shorts.

“Bye, kiddo,” he says “call me Obie, yeah?”

Tony smiles when his mother’s hand tightens on his shoulder, gently tugging him with a firm grip back to the main house. “I’m just gonna smoke,” Obie says “hope you don’t mind?”

Mom’s lips widen but her eyes don’t crinkle. “Not at all, Obadiah, I’ll have someone call you for dinner.”

Tony’s mom yanks him away, dragging him across the grass. “Mooom,” he whines, feet scuffing against the patio as she pulls him to the french doors “Mom, I was playing.”

Maria scuffles him inside, hand on his wrist, pulling him down oak corridors. “Don’t be silly, Anthony,” she says, heels clacking against the wood “Jarvis?” She calls, voice shrill “Jarvis? God, where is he,” she says something in Italian that Tony hasn’t got time to translate “Jarvis!”

“Here, Mrs Stark,” he says, appearing calmly from an open doorway. Jarvis isn’t like normal butlers because the butlers that Tony has seen at other people’s parties have been old and have no hair. Jarvis is old, but he’s not as old as his dad, he’s maybe around his mom’s age. Tony hasn’t asked, because that’s rude, and mom said you should never ask someone their age after he asked Mrs Gifford at her husband’s funeral and wondered if she was going to be next and made her cry. 

Jarvis is really tall and his has an English accent. He always wears a white shirt and black pants and he doesn’t wear the stupid clothes that most butlers wear. Dad said it’s because Jarvis is their friend, not their worker, even though dad pays him to do stuff.

Tony loves Jarvis. He’s really cool. He reads him stories before he goes to bed, and makes baths fun. He took Tony to the aquarium for his birthday and bought him a giant plushy shark that he keeps in his bed and calls Cap. 

“Jarvis,” she says again, relived, and Jarvis hoists Tony into his arms “he needs a bath,” she says, fiddling with an earring “could you put him to bed tonight?”

Jarvis smiles and says ‘of course’ even though Jarvis is always the one to put him to bed and mom just says that sometimes to make it sound like she does too.

“Chop chop, Tony,” Jarvis says, letting him slip to the floor “come on, you don’t want to be here when the party starts.”

Tony wrinkles his nose. “I hate the parties.”

Jarvis hums. “I know,” he says “so hurry up and get in the bath.”

Tony grumbles, because he really hates baths too, and the soap always gets in his eyes, it’s ridiculous. Jarvis shepherds him up the stairs into his bedroom and Tony groans, crosses his arms. 

“Don’t be stubborn, Tony,” Jarvis says, mildly from inside the cupboard where the towels are kept “you stink.”

Tony frowns. “No I don’t.” He sniffs under his arm surreptitiously “You stink.” He pouts.

“The Stark charm.” Jarvis drawls.

Tony sits on the edge of the bed, feet swinging. He wants to ask Jarvis a question, but he’s not sure how to say it without being rude.

“Jarvis,” he asks carefully, head to the side “why is it that mom doesn’t put me to bed? Or read me stories at night?”

For a moment, the fumbling in the cupboard stills. And then it continues, and Jarvis drags out a thick towel. He sighs, throws it on the bed. “Take off your clothes, Tony, hop on.”

Tony complies, but asks again. “Jarvis,” he says “how come mom doesn’t do that stuff? Because I asked Lizzy at my birthday and she said ‘my mom reads me my story’ and I said ‘doesn’t your butler do that?’ and she said that that was silly and that it was a mommy job.”

Jarvis frowns, wrapping Tony in the towel. “Your mother loves you very much, Tony.”

“Then why doesn’t she spend time with me? All the other moms at school do.”

Jarvis gets that squinty look like he’s trying to think of an answer to one of Tony’s difficult questions, like where do babies come from (answer: eww) and what is dad’s job. “It’s complicated, Tony,” he says, finally “but I promise you your mother loves you very, very much.” And Jarvis has this really sad look o his face and he holds Tony’s hands in his.

Tony’s not buying it. Adults always say it’s complicated when they don’t want to explain stuff. Jarvis runs the water in his bath and Tony sits on the toilet, wrapped in a towel, thinking. His dad is always really busy and he never wants to spend time with Tony, but when Tony sees him he calls him “Tones,” and ruffles his hair and stuff. Tony wishes that his dad would spend more time with him, like the other kids at school whose dads play ball with them. Tony’s never played ball with like, a mitt. Jarvis doesn’t really play that sort of thing, he says that he plays football, which isn’t really football, it’s soccer.

And on bad days his dad can get real mad, and then it’s just better to stay out of the way.

Tony’s dad can be scary, too.

He doesn’t really mind if his mom doesn’t love him. He wishes that she would hold him, sometimes, or that she would take him to school. Jarvis says she can’t because she’s a busy woman and she shows that she loves him in other way. He just doesn’t understand what he would have to do to be loved. What did the other kids do to get their parents to like them?

He asks Jarvis and he just kinda stares at Tony with really wide eyes and blinks a bit. “They didn’t do anything, Tony,” he says “parents love their children unconditionally.”

Tony frowns as Jarvis helps him into the tub with all the bubbles. “What does that mean?”

Jarvis sighs. “It means that your parents will always love you, no matter what.”

No matter what? “So even if I grew up and killed someone? They would still love me then?”

Jarvis considers. “Well,” he says “that’s a bit different. Are you going to grow up and kill somebody?”

Tony laughs. “No!” He says “That’s wrong, obviously.”

“Well then,” Jarvis says, blowing the bubbles on his nose “don’t ask silly questions.”

Tony busies himself making a bubble beard and playing with his rubber ducks, Newton, Einstein and Oppenheimer. He wonders about him mom, and his dad, and everything else.

“Jarvis,” he says carefully “can I ask you something?”

“Hmm?” Jarvis looks up.

“Do you love me unconditionally?”

Jarvis frowns. “I’m… I’m not your mother, or your father, Tony.”

“Yeah,” Tony says quickly “I know that. But do you, like, could you love me unconditionally?”

“Could I?” Jarvis quirks an eyebrow “I already do, silly. You’re my little man.”

Tony laughs again and splashes the bubbles onto Jarvis’ face. “You’ve got a bubble beard.” He gurgles.

Jarvis swipes a hand down his cheek. “You,” he said “are a monkey. An absolute disaster area, honestly Tony, I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”

“You could send me to a zoo,” he says seriously “because that’s where they keep the monkeys.”

Jarvis snorts, wiping the rest of the bubbles from his cheek and slapping it onto Tony’s head in one smooth motion. “Honestly, Tony, I’d be tempted.”

He finishes the bath, quickly washing Tony’s hair even though the soap gets all in his eyes and he is not crying it’s just his eyes trying to get rid of the chemicals, he read about it once. He’s not crying because he’s tough cookie and dad said that Stark men don’t cry.

Later, he’s lying in bed and Jarvis is next to him on top of the covers, one arm slung around him, holding him close. “Do you want the Emperor’s New Clothes or The Big Pancake?”

Tony stifles a yawn, or tries to. It’s still kinda light outside, and he can hear all the guest downstairs talking and eating canapés. He can hear music coming from outside his balcony, too, and he’s happy that he’s up here instead of down their being poked and prodded by all the guests.

“Jarvis,” he asks, pressed close against his side “why don’t you have family?”

Jarvis frowns. “It’s story time, Tony.” He says sternly.

Tony wiggles free, squirms against the blankets. “Yeah, but,” he starts “how comes you don’t have like, a wife or kids or whatever? Why are you here instead of, you know.” He says, head cocked to the side.

“You have a lot of big questions tonight.” Jarvis says sharply. Tony looks down, plays with the bed sheets, and Jarvis’ eyes soften. “Oh, Tony,” he sighs “it’s a long story. I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“No,” he says, because he’s stubborn and he wants to know “I want you to tell me now.” He crosses his arms and sticks his chin in the air. Jarvis considers.

“If I tell you a little bit, will you go to sleep?”

“Promise.”

Jarvis leans closer. “Is that a pinky promise?” He says seriously.

Tony groans. “Fine,” he sulks, holding out his finger “I pinky promise to go to bed it you tell me.”

Jarvis sighs. “Settle down, then,” and Tony burrows back under the quilts, rests his head on Jarvis’ belly.

“Go on,” he prods.

“When I was younger,” Jarvis begins “I decided I wanted to see the world.”

“Did you?”

“What?”

“Did you see the world?”

A pause. “Not really.”

Oh. That’s sad. It’s a bit like Tony, because he wants to be an astronaut when he’s older and he already missed the first moon landing.

“And?” Tony prompts, yawning.

Jarvis plays with his hair. “So I came to America. Because I had heard that America was were your dreams could come true.”

Tony’s heard that. He knows all about that. He tugs his shark, Cap, closer, because he named him after Captain America. Tony has all the Captain America stuff even though Billy from school said that nobody like Captain America anymore. Tony kinda agreed, but he still loved his shark.

“So I joined the army. And you know all that stuff in the papers? About Vietnam?”

Tony knows about this. “It’s the war,” he says tiredly “in Vietnam. My dad said—”

“Well, I fought in that war until I got hurt. And then I had to come back here. Except I had no home or friends or anything.”

“Why didn’t you go back to England?” Tony asks, because England sounds like a cool place to go. Tony would love to live there.

“I didn’t have any money to get back, and even if I did my family was dead anyway.”

“Oh,” Tony says “I’m sorry.” That’s what you’re supposed to say when someone talks about that, you’re supposed to say “I’m sorry” or “my condolences” or “God bless” if your Tony’s mom.

“One day, I met your father and he offered me a job —”

“Why?”

“He just did.”

That doesn’t make sense, dad would never just hire someone. Dad is really, what’s the word, he’s really careful, he worries a lot about who he hires because he gets - paranoid, that’s it - he gets real paranoid. Tony is really proud of the fact that he can remember that word, Jarvis taught it to him as part of their super hard spelling bee because the one at school was too easy.

“And I came here, and a few years later you were born.”

“And then you started looking after me!” Tony says, perking up slightly. “Right?”

“That’s right, little man.” Jarvis smiles “I started looking after you.”

Tony’s face goes serious. “And you’re always gonna look after me, right?”

Jarvis pauses. “Well, not when you’re all grown up.”

Tony frowns. “Yeah, but, before that. In case mom and dad are too busy and forget to.”

Jarvis scoffs. “They wouldn’t do that, don’t be silly. They’d find someone else to take care of you.”

“I don’t want someone else,” Tony says, burying his head into Jarvis’ belly “I want you.”

Jarvis chuckles. “Tony we made a deal.”

Tony groans. “Jaaarvis.”

“Sorry little man, you pinky promised. No takesy backsy.”

“It’s still light out!”

Jarvis looks at him. “Tony, you know that’s because it’s summer.”

Tony groans again and flumps his head on the pillow. “I’m not tired.” He pouts.

“Yes, you are.” Jarvis says, disentangling himself himself from Tony’s covers. “Just close your eyes and you’ll drop right off.”

Tony fights back a yawn. “Jarvis?” He asks, mouth stretching “can I have another story?”

Jarvis sighs. “Tony, one story per night, that’s the deal—”

“Yeah but there’s a party tonight,” Tony interrupts “and d-dad might get, you know.”

Jarvis’ eyes soften. He pauses.

“One more story.” He says, and Tony grins lazily.

“The Emperors New Clothes,” Tony yawns again “do the voices and stuff.”

Jarvis takes a seat by the bed, legs crossed, and begins to read.

 

When Tony wakes up it’s dark out.

He feels muddled and sleepy and he rolls over only to feel the familiar dampness on his sheets. He throws back the covers and the smell of pee hits him. 

He’s wet the bed.

He panics a bit, because he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know if he should risk walking down to Jarvis’ room because his dad might still be up or whether he should lie in bed even though the sheets are wet completely through and they stink.

He tells himself not to cry and he bites his lip even though he can feel the lump in his throat and his eyes start to sting. He wipes them quickly and rolls, feet padding gently on the soft carpet. He needs to find Jarvis, he can’t let anyone else know about it or else.

This is his and Jarvis’ little secret. Jarvis hasn’t told mom or dad because Tony doesn’t want his dad knowing that he still pees himself like a baby. He says that loads of kids do it and that it’s okay but Tony knows he’s only saying it to make him feel better.

He cracks open the door, heart pounding. He has to steel himself to open it wide enough to leave. He’s sure that he can hear footsteps coming down the corridor, he’s sure that someone is going to find him and realise what he’s done. The door creaks slightly and he balks, sure that now someone will definitely hear and come to find him.

He tiptoes down the corridor in the dark. He knows the route to Jarvis’ room by heart and he knows that Jarvis has all the clean sheets and stuff waiting, he just needs to find him first. But his heart is beating hard in his chest and he can feel his tummy doing swoops over and over.

His pants are really uncomfortable and they’re sticking in all the wrong places. He’s still tired and he just wants to go to bed but then he hears something coming down the corridor that’s perpendicular to the one he’s in and he freezes.

It’s his dad’s voice, and he’s talking in this low rumble. There’s someone else with him.

Oh God, Tony doesn’t know what to do. There’s nowhere here to hide and he can see the two shadows cast on the wall. He steps backwards, and the wood panelling under the carpet creaks.

Tony holds his breath.

“Who’s there?” Howard says, sharply, his own conversation broken up.

“Ignore it, Howard,” says the other man — the man from earlier, Obie — “it’s nothing, hey, you listening to me?”

He hears his dad sigh. “Right, yeah, I just, I don’t feel comfortable giving those bastards anything.” He sees his dad’s shadow run a hand through his hair and his voice is a murmur “You don’t know what their gonna use it for and that’s not, look, it’s not me, that’s not what we do at Stark, Obie. I’m not, we’re not, we can’t give these guys anything until we’re 100% on this.”

Tony holds himself as still as possible, desperate not to be found. He hears Obie sigh and open a door. He can see their shadows on the wall. “Howard,” he says, flinging an arm round his shoulder “these men, they’re not like you, they’re not like us. Military is one thing, these guys are good business. You want the pressure off? Take my word for it, old man, these guys are what you’re looking for.”

Dad snorts. “You’re selling a demon’s deal, Obie. You’re asking me to sell my soul.”

Obie leans closer. “Howard,” he says, and his voice is really quiet and serious “Howard, do they know how bad it’s got? Does your wife know?”

Dad pushes away and Tony crouches low, because what are they talking about, what doesn’t mom know?

“Maria doesn’t need to know shit,” dad spits “as long as the money rolls in she doesn’t care where it come from.”

“Yeah? And what about your boy, Howard. What’s he gonna do, huh? What’s he gonna grow up to? All this,” Obie’s shadow flings it’s arms wide “this is gonna be gone, Howard,” a snap of the fingers “just like that. Everything you worked for, everything your old man worked for, poof, gone. You gonna let that happen? You gonna step back and let the banks take everything.”

Dad curses and Tony huddles close. “Don’t talk like that,” he says “you’re acting as if—”

“I am telling it how it is, Howard,” Obie’s voice is low “they’re gonna take you for everything, Hammer will milk you dry and in twenty years time your kids gonna be working for him if you don’t play your cards right. Take the deal, Howard. You’ve got a family to look out for and money doesn’t last forever.”

He sees his dad hang his head. “I…” he runs a hand over his face. “We’ll talk tomorrow, yeah? We’ll talk properly, let me, Christ, let me think on it.”

“There are worse people to climb in bed with,” Obie says and Tony frowns, what does that mean, the only person dad is climbing into bed with is mom.

“Yeah, yeah,” dad says tiredly “whatever, Obadiah. I’ll sleep on it. Get back to you.” He exhales. “‘Night, Obie.”

“Good man, Howard,” Obie says when dad walks back down the corridor “you’re doing the right thing.”

Obie closes his door firmly and Tony breathes. He can’t believe he got away with that, he’s shaking everywhere. Imagine if dad and Obie had seen him, it would have been so bad and dad probably would have shaken him because he would be embarrassing him in front of his friend.

He manages to find Jarvis’ room without bumping into anyone else and knocks on the door. “Jarvis?” He whispers “Jarvis.”

He hears thumping from inside and shuffling and then Jarvis is opening the door. He’s wearing glasses and the room inside is lit by a soft glow. He hadn’t been to sleep.

“I did it again.” Tony says, hanging his head. “M’ sorry.” 

Jarvis sighs. “Oh, Tony,” he says softly “come in, quickly, don’t stand out here.”

Jarvis washes him down and wraps him in a fresh blanket. He doesn’t make him go back to his room and Tony finally finds sleep while sitting on his lap, wrapped up like a burrito, while Jarvis reads his book behind Tony’s back.

He forgets all about the conversation in the corridor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping that Maria and Howard's relationship as well as their relationship with Tony is made clearer in this chapter? Idk, I'm using my own experiences of family arguments for this one, although thankfully, my family is not as dysfunctional as the Starks.
> 
> Also, alcoholism in this one.
> 
> Thanks to MissFixIt for beta-ing this one! It was a massive help!

Tony’s Mom and Dad aren’t talking right now.

Tony thinks it has something to do with the conversation between Obie and Dad but he doesn’t tell Mom that because he doesn’t know what they were talking about and Mom doesn’t really listen to him anyway.

Instead, on Sunday, when he’s supposed to go to church his Mom won’t get out of bed.

“Mom,” he says, tugging at her blanket “Mom c’mon we’ll be late.”

She doesn’t respond, and rolls over. There are bruises under her eyes.

“Mom,” Tony says in a loud whisper “Mom I’m ready.”

Her eyes crack open. “Not today, _bambino,_ not today my treasure.” She mumbles, hair all over her face and unwashed.

Mom never misses church.

Tony sighs. He tugs the blanket back over her shoulders, and plumps the pillows, because that seems like a nice thing to do. He’s not sad that he’s missing church because it’s actually really boring but he is sad because he knows his Mom is having one of those days and won’t be getting out of bed.

He pads down the corridor and knocks on Jarvis’ door. “Mom’s sick,” he says and walks on. He grabs Cap from his bedroom and some crayons and paper and sits out in the garden under the shade of the three trees.

 

 

 

 

The next week, Jarvis is putting Tony into all of his best clothes. Tony hates wearing these because the tie is always too tight and it itches his neck and it all looks stupid anyway, but Jarvis says that today someone is coming to paint the family — which is his Mom and Dad and him — and that he needs to look his best because it will be years before they get another one done.

Tony whines when Jarvis draws a comb through his hair, squirms when he buttons up his blue jacket. It’s not fair, no other kid has to wear these stupid clothes, he grumbles, and Jarvis shucks him under the chin. He tells him to be on his best behaviour because they’re all going to be eating dinner as a family tonight, so he needs to be careful. He reminds Tony not to ask silly questions in case Dad gets mad and not to talk with his mouth full. Tony knows all this, he doesn’t need Jarvis to tell him, and now he’s got all these butterflies in his stomach.

He thinks Jarvis must know he’s nervous because he holds his hand the whole way to his Dad’s study.

“Okay,” he says quietly, stopping in front of the door. “Don’t worry, Tony, it’ll be fine. Just remember,” he holds up his chin with one finger “sit up straight, don’t fidget. Don’t—” Jarvis makes a pained face “don’t ask difficult questions.”

“Okay,” Tony whispers, hands playing with the front of his shirt “okay.” He repeats. He knows what to do, how to act. He’s clever, really clever, and he knows how to behave. “Should I ask Dad about workshop time next week?”

Jarvis considers. “Maybe. See what kind of mood he’s in.” He says quietly.

Tony loves workshop time with his Dad, but he makes sure to book it in advance.

Jarvis smiles. “Here we go.” He says, bopping Tony’s nose and rapping on the door.

“Come in,” his Dad says lazily and Tony’s stomach flips at the sound. He hasn’t seen his Dad in _ages._

Jarvis opens the door and his Mom and Dad are sitting on the red couch in front of the window. His dad’s office is large and painted yellow. There’s lot’s of red furniture and dark brown floor boards. Bright light is streaming through the windows.

“Ed,” he smiles, glass in hand. He downs the last dregs and flicks his thumb over the corner of his mouth. His eyes find Tony, and Tony isn’t sure whether to look away or smile or what “bring him here, let’s get this over with.” He pours himself some more wine from the bottle on the oak table by his side.

Tony’s mother sits next to him, legs crossed delicately in a floaty blue dress. Her dark hair is done up in a bun and she’s running red over her lips. She sits angled towards the window, away from dad, and her lips are tight.

“Here, sweetie.” She says looking in a small hand-mirror. “Sit between us.”

Tony blinks and settles himself carefully in between his Mom and Dad. He squirms slightly because the seat is high up.

He can feel the weight of his Dad’s thigh pressed against him. 

His mother gently repositions her leg so they’re not touching.

“Doesn’t he look nice, Howard,” she says, touching up her lipstick. “Like a little man.”

“Mmm,” Dad says, checking his watch.

“Anthony,” Mom says, absently “what do you say to your father?”

Tony feels sick. He’s got this weird feeling in his gut because his dad is holding the glass in his hand and he’s not looking at Tony, he’s looking to the other side.

“Hi d—” he stumbles slightly, stutters over the ‘d’, and his cheeks burn. He passes it off a cough. “Hi dad.” He says again, in his most confident voice.

“When can we get started?” Dad says in reply.

The painter sits at his stool, shuffles slightly. “Whenever you’re ready Mr Stark.” He says, deferentially. 

Dad cracks his neck. “Okay,” he sighs “Maria, honey,” he says in a voice that’s not very honey-like at all “if you could look away from that mirror for a second we could started.”

“Put the drink down, Howard,” his mother says, lips moving upwards but eyes staying fixed on the mirror “I’m ready.”

Tony sits awkwardly between them, and he swings his feet and plays with the folds of his tie. He kinda wishes they would talk more so that they didn’t have to sit in silence. He wishes Jarvis was here for his Dad to joke with.

“Don’t do that,” Dad snaps, swatting Tony’s hands so they drop his tie and Tony freezes. “How you doing, Tony?” Dad says, looking down at him. “Funky hair there, kid.”

Tony smiles, and some of the tension in his stomach relaxes. “Jarvis put gel in it.”

“I can see that,” his Dad says, smiling, with his eyes fixed on the back of mom’s head “you look like you fell in motor oil, Tones.”

Tony sighs. “Yeah,” he said “I tried to tell Jarvis but my hair doesn’t stay down.”

“Hmm.” His dad says, sipping at his wine. “That’s your mother’s genes,” he says “no curly hair my side of the family.”

Tony _hates_ his hair. It’s thick and and curly and looks like a _girls_. His dad keeps telling mom to take him the hairdressers because if not they’re gonna have to start calling him Antonia and then mom will get what she always wanted.

“Don’t worry, Anthony,” his mother says sweetly “I think it looks nice.”

His Dad snorts and laughs loudly and Tony’s hands curl tightly in his lap. He tries not to play with his tie even though he’s nervous.

“Are you going to start?” Dad says shortly “Or will we be here forever?”

The painter jerks in his seat, apologises. He tells them that they should stay as still as possible and that’s really difficult for Tony, he can never really stay still, his fingers always want to do their own thing.

Dad keeps drinking and Mom just looks ahead and they don’t talk to him. His fingers are starting to itch and he kinda needs to pee but he doesn’t want to say anything in case Mom or Dad get mad. He doesn’t know when this is gonna finish so he asks Mom and she shrugs.

It’s really, really boring and Tony’s collar is too tight. He wants to be in his room because he was experimenting with making _alloys,_ except they weren’t real alloys they were just fake ones from his chemistry set. Still, it’s fun, and he’d rather be there than down here.

Dad is drinking, still, more of the wine or whatever from the table and Tony can’t tell if the feeling in his belly is nervousness or needing to pee. He’s really close to his Dad and every time he moves Tony jumps a little even though he doesn’t know why. He’s starting to sweat, and the room is really hot.

“Mom,” he whispers, tugging at her skirt “Mom I need to pee.”

His Mom shoots him a look. “Really, Anthony?” She hisses “now?”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and he wants to ask if that means he can go but she turns away, fixes her eyes back on the spot on the wall.

He starts swinging his legs until his Dad knocks him with his knee. “Stop that,” he says, distractedly, looking at the watch on his wrist. Tony thinks they should be talking, maybe, that they don’t have to sit here in silence, but he’s not gonna start anything.

It feels like _hours_ before the painter tells them that they can leave and after Tony’s Dad goes back to work and Tony doesn’t even get to ask him about workshop time.

 

 

 

 

Later that evening, they’re all eating dinner together, like a proper family in one of those weird picture books Jarvis reads him.

The table is really long, and Dad sits on one end and Mom sits on the other and Tony sits right in the middle. Normally Jarvis eats with Tony on their own in the kitchen but once a month his parents schedule a family dinner.

It’s really quiet in the room. Tony’s been feeling sick since this morning and his stomach is all tight with nerves but he doesn’t want to say anything just in case. Both his parents are drinking, and it makes his Dad angry and his Mom sad.

“Don’t slouch, Anthony,” Mom says, looking at her plate. Dad doesn’t say anything, and he hasn’t touched his food.

Silence.

“Pass the salt, Tones.” Dad says. Tony can’t reach it, so he gets up, picks it up, walks to his Dad and puts it next to him.

Then he sits back down.

His mother daintily blows on her soup.

“Why don’t you ask Anthony what he did today.” Mom says, glaring at Dad.

Dad drinks. “What did you do today, Tony.”

Tony panics. “I b-built,” he stops, he’s messed up again, his tongue isn’t working properly and he’s all hot and sticky “I built a b-bike.”

He had help from Jarvis because he couldn't hold all the bits together because he’s not strong enough but he had done all the instructions without help and stuff. Tony feels sick, though, because he stuttered all his words and he’s supposed to not be doing that anymore.

Dad doesn’t notice though. “Wow,” he says, raising an eyebrow and squinting into the bottom of his glass “spectacular.”

Mom’s spoon hits the table. “Howard,” she hisses “talk to your son.”

Tony doesn’t want to be here anymore. No one is talking and now Mom is going to make Dad _angry,_ he doesn’t want to talk to Tony and she’s going to get him all worked up again, she always ruins it.

Dad glares. And he keeps on glaring even when he asks “How old are you now, Tony?”

Tony blinks. “Six.” He says quietly, and a wave of relief washes over him because he didn’t stutter, he sounded okay.

Dad squints. “You’re a bit on the small side.”

Tony squirms in his chair, doesn’t look up from his plate. “Yeah,” he says because he doesn’t know what else to do.

“That’s your Dad’s genes, Tony,” Mom says lightly, dipping her spoon into the bowl “all my brothers are tall.”

Dad’s eye narrow and he looks mad. “Your brothers are fucking scroungers, that’s what they are.”

“Don’t be angry, honey,” Mom says, rearranging her cutlery “it doesn’t matter if you’re short if you have the money.”

Howard barks out a laugh. “That’s right,” he says coldly “the women don’t care as long as you’re rich, Tony. Your Mom would know.”

Mom sets down her spoon forcefully and picks up her wine. Tony sweats. He wants Jarvis and he doesn’t want to be here.

“Howard, your son is at the table. Maybe you should put the drink down.”

He shrugs. “I will if you will.”

Mom’s lips get real pinched and she breathes out heavily though her nose. Then she breathes in again.

“So, Tony,” she starts over, voice loud “how’s school.”

Tony can feel his Dad’s eyes on him and he wants to throw up. “It’s, it’s okay.” He says, looking at the table.

“Mmm hmm,” his mom says, nodding as if he’s said something really interesting “Tony’s top of his class.” She says, looking at dad “Even for writing, isn’t that right, Tony?”

Tony’s not really good at writing. It’s just that he reads a lot more than the other kids and the work isn’t that difficult. Jarvis says he’s advanced, and that his brain just processes things faster than most people. He says it’s a good thing because Tony can tell things that other people can’t.

“That’s, that’s good,” dad says lazily, looking at his wrist “you know, it was a bit touch and go at the beginning. You never talked.”

Jarvis says that that doesn’t mean he was stupid. He says that Tony just waited until he had all the right words to say what he wanted to.

“Howard,” Mom hisses “don’t.”

Dad rolls his eyes, glass in hand. “What, we’re not allowed to talk about it?” He looks at Tony and whispers conspiratorially “your Mom’s a bit funny, isn’t she Tony?” And he makes a whacky face and Tony laughs nervously even though he can smell the alcohol on his dad’s breath from here.

“Don’t.” Mom says, and she sounds real angry “Don’t talk about me like that in front of my son.”

“Our,” Howard says, tilting the glass back into his mouth “he’s ours. Or did you forget?”

“I try to.”

Dad snorts. “So do I, honey, so do I. You’re no bed of roses either, sweetheart.”

“I could hold it together,” Mom says, and Tony doesn’t know what their talking about and he feels sick “I could hold it together for our son. All you do is get drunk.”

Dad laughs even though mom hasn’t been funny. “Do you have any idea?” He says quietly “do you have any idea what my life is like? Do you think,” he hiccups “do you think I like this?”

Mom makes a face. “I know how difficult life has been for you, Howard. The private education, the yachts, the parties, the women. I know, don’t worry, I grew up in a slum so I can empathise _exactly_ with how hard it’s been for you—”

“ _Do you have any idea,”_ Dad says, and his gets all screwed up, his nostrils go wide and Tony thinks he’s gonna throw up “what I have to _deal with?_ I don’t need this Maria, not from you, I get enough _shit—”_ and he slams his hand into the table “from the rest of them. Who do you think put this fucking food on the table, huh? You gonna talk shit like that, Maria? You wanna talk shit like that? Go ahead, I’d like to see you last one fucking day—”

“ _Mio Dio!”_ Mom spits “My God, the arrogance on you,” she pushes her plate away from her and soup spills over the edges “you run crying like a child, Howard, you behave like a _child,_ a _child,_ look, your son is better behaved than you—”

“Pathetic.” Dad growls “Absolutely pathetic. That’s what you are Maria, you come for me for the money and when the money runs out—”

“Runs out?” Mom stops, one eyebrow raised, fists clenched on the table “What are you talking about running out? What have you done?”

Dad laughs, really loud, and Tony hates that sound, it makes him want to hide and he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to leave. “What have I done?” Dad shouts “What have _I_ done? I’ll tell you what I’ve fucking done” and he snatches the wine bottle, downs it, red liquid slipping down his cheek, ragged. He burps and _throws_ the bottle, it smashes on the wall behind mom’s head and Maria screams and Tony pushes back his chair in fright.

“Never stick to your ideals, Tony,” and his Dad is right there, he’s got his hands on Tony’s shoulders and he’s tugging him up “don’t do it, boy, it’s not worth it. Don’t be a sucker like your old man—” and Tony’s never been more scared in his life.

“Howard!” Mom screams “put him down!”

Tony shakes and nods and tries to scratch his Dad’s hands away, he can smell the alcohol on his breath and he feels his stomach tighten. His dad is breathing heavy and his eyes are red and small.

He lets go. Tony sinks back into his chair as his dad slinks away, grabbing a bottle from the ice bucket. Tony shakes. His mom starts to pick up the broken glass with her bare hands.

He feels ill, like, really ill. Jarvis isn’t here and he doesn’t know what to do. “Mom,” he croaks, tapping her back, staggering forward “Mom, I don’t feel well.”

“Go,” his mom says, and she sound angry, and really sad, too “what do you want, go.”

“Mom,” he whispers “Mommy, I feel sick.”

“Go, Tony. Go with your dad, I know you want to.” She says tiredly and Tony shakes his head and plays with his shirt and tries to tell her that he’s scared to leave the room because Dad is out there somewhere and he might find him and he doesn’t know where Jarvis is.

He throws up all down his clothes and on the floor and his Mom curses and Tony shakes. “Sorry,” he says “sorry.” And then he throws up again, all the soup he had eaten burning the back of his throat.

“ _Idiota,”_ she growls “your father is an _idiota,_ he’s scared you, look at this,” she spits and puts her hand on Tony’s forehead. She clucks her teeth. “You’re hot, _bambino,_ you’re burning up, Jarvis?” She calls “Jarvis!” 

A cook appears round the corner and Mom sends him to find Jarvis. She takes Tony’s hand and tugs him along even though his legs feel all weak and trembly. “It’s okay, Anthony,” she soothes “lets get you into bed and then Jarvis will read you a story.”

Tony throws up again in the corridor and Mom strokes his hair and undoes his tie. 

He holds out his arms because he doesn’t think he can walk anymore. “You’ve got sick everywhere,” his mom says “ugh, God, here, sweetie.” And she bends down and picks him up anyway. His Mom is strong, Tony didn’t know his Mom was strong.

“Shh, it’s alright you can cry,” Mom says “shh, come on, here we are — Jarvis! Oh, thank God, Tony’s sick.”

“What happened?” He hears Jarvis’ low, soft voice and hugs his mom tighter.

“Nothing,” Mom says “nothing happened.”

A pause.

“He’s ill, though, I think it’s an upset stomach.”

Mom puts him on the bed. “Jarvis, where are his clothes kept?”

“Let me handle it, Maria,” Jarvis says kindly “calm down.”

“I am calm,” his Mom says, not sounding very calm “I just—” he voice dips “Howard said there’s no money. Is that true? Jarvis, hey, look at me, is that true?” She says, urgently.

There’s a long silence.

“Jarvis, I know you know, he tells you everything. Please, tell me, because if it’s true I’m taking Tony and we’re getting out, I swear, Jarvis.”

“There’s money,” Jarvis says, quietly. “Not now, Maria, wait. Let me sort out Tony.”

He feels the bed dip, and Jarvis starts tugging him out of his clothes, wiping him down. “You still feeling sick, Tony? Hey?”

Tony nods, eyes closing. He does not feel good at all, he’s all hot and sweaty and he wants to throw up all over again.

“My tummy hurts.” He whines and Jarvis tucks him under the covers.

“Get a wet cloth,” he says and then something cool is touching his forehead.

“Does he need medicine? Does he need hospital? What’s wrong, is he okay, is it something I did, is it Howard?”

“He’s got a bug,” Jarvis says, and Tony hears someone crying.

“Oh God, Jarvis, what are we going to do,” his Mom whispers, and Tony has never heard her cry, ever, she never ever cries “God, you say there’s no money and Howard’s getting worse — he wants to crawl into bed with Roxxon, Jarvis, he’s selling his soul and he’s gonna get worse, you know it—”

“Maria,” Jarvis says softly “you’re scaring him.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” Mom says, and he feels her hand on his, she strokes his cheek. “God, _bambino,_ I’m sorry.”

Tony coughs. “Can I have a story?” He croaks.

“Sure, honey, sure, Jarvis what are his favourites, what does he like? I’m here, baby, Mommy’s here.”

Tony thinks he must be pretty sick because his Mom is being really nice. She’s never read him a story before.

He doesn’t stay awake long enough to hear what books she’s reading, but that’s okay. Tony thinks that maybe he should get sick more often.

 

 

 

 

Tony can hear murmured voices.

“I don’t trust him,” someone hisses “Obadiah’s a snake, Jarvis.”

“Shh,” Jarvis soothes “you’ll wake him up.”

There’s a soft hand scraping through his hair. Tony coughs.

“I can’t—” Mom breaks off “if there’s no money,” she says “then I need to go. And I’ll take Tony with me, I swear, Jarvis. He’s getting worse, you didn’t see him today,” she lowers her voice “he grabbed Tony, Jarvis, if he’d been any more drunk he would of hurt him, I’m sure of it. I don’t want Tony growing up with a man like that, I don’t want him touching my baby, I don’t want Tony turning into him, you understand? You understand? _Dio,_ that won’t happen. I won’t let it happen.”

“Mom,” Tony croaks “can I have water?”

“Sure honey,” and mom’s voice goes soft “sure, of course.”

Someone holds it to his lips and he drinks and coughs some of it up and goes back to sleep.

It’s weird being sick because everyone is really nice to him. His Mom reads him stories and Jarvis gives him ice cream.

One time, his Dad comes and sits by his bed, and Tony pretends to sleep and stays completely frozen until he leaves.

After, he has a comeback so bad that his fever spikes and he throws up all the ice cream Jarvis had given him.

He almost likes being ill and he’s sad when it’s over and he has to go back to normal. His Mom and Dad are definitely not talking now.

One day, a few weeks later, Jarvis tells him that he’s going to go away to school. His mother smiles, strokes his head, promises to help him pack.

Tony doesn’t see her that night or the one after. He packs with the help of Jarvis.

“I don’t want to go,” Tony had whispered the night before he was supposed to leave “please, please Jarvis.”

Jarvis had stroked his head. “It’s for the best, Tony.”

Tony had shook his head. “No,” he said “I know they want to get rid of me, I know it.” And he had started to cry “What if I wet the bed?” He sobbed “Whose gonna help me? They’re all gonna find out I’m a baby.”

Jarvis had held him and rocked him until the crying had stopped.

“One last story?” He had said and Tony had nodded.

“Once upon a time,” he begins “there was an emperor.”

 

 

 

 

The next day, a car takes him to Harwell academy, Maine, est. 1902, with a rich history in educating America’s finest. Age range between four years to nineteen. Boarding.

Tony hugs his mother and shakes his father’s hand.

“We’ll see you for Thanksgiving, Tones,” he says, and he ruffles his hair, glass in hand.

“Have fun, Anthony,” Mom says, and she’s got this look on her face like she’s looking though him or he’s not really there. Her smile is stretched too wide on her face.

He hugs Jarvis the longest, because he doesn’t want him to go. “Please,” he whispers, one last time “don’t send me away.”

Jarvis crouches low, and he holds him close, and strokes his hair, and then Mom tells him to hurry up and Tony gets into the car.

And then it’s rolling down the drive way, and his parents don’t see him wave because they’ve already gone inside, but Jarvis stands there, watching, until the car exits the gates and heads into the dying light of the New York traffic.

 


	4. Chapter 4

The woman who greets Tony at the door is old and she smells like milk and vodka.

She smiles down at him and it’s really wide and really fake and she has fish breath hiding behind fat lips. “Mr Stark,” she says, leaning down, not crouching down, _leaning,_ and she holds out her hand for him to shake. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Tony blinks. “Hi.” He says quietly.

The sun is setting outside and the school is really pretty. Right now, Tony is standing in the large, red stone building with honeysuckle up the side where the boys dorms are kept. The lady — who calls herself Miss Behan — says that he’ll have his own room here that he’ll share with another boy. She says that he’ll have the same room all the way till he leaves when he’s eighteen, isn’t that good? It’ll be just like a home away from home.

She has someone take all his things to his room and then she gives him a tour around the campus. She talks about prestige and academics and facilities and the whole time Tony just plays with his shirt and tries not to stutter when she asks him questions. He doesn’t want to be here at all. He misses Jarvis, he misses mom, he misses _dad,_ he knows his dad would never be scared like this.

Tony imagines his dad driving up in his large car and saying “wait! I’ve made a mistake!” and he takes Tony into his arms and then he puts him in the car and they drive home and get ice cream and Jarvis puts him to bed and he finishes the Emperor’s New Clothes. 

Except then the Miss Behan is taking him back to the boys dorms and she’s leading him up the wide stairs and down a corridor and then down _another_ corridor and his room is at the very end, next to the fire escape. There aren’t even anymore rooms this far down, Mrs Behan explains that behind these doors are storage cupboards.

She says that most of the kids are still on summer vacation, but Tony’s roommate didn’t go home so he’s all ready to meet him. She says that he’s really excited to have one because he joined late last year and so was left in the room on his own.

Tony doesn’t want to meet his roommate, he doesn’t want to be here. He wants to cry, but he promised Jarvis that he wouldn’t, he promised he would be strong even though he doesn’t feel strong at all, he feels sad and weak and he just wants to go home.

Miss Behan knocks on the door and a little voice says ‘come in!’ and she smiles down with her massive smile and Tony just stares ahead.

“Hi!” Says his roommate, and he’s really, really tall and really really skinny. He’s got messy dark black hair and super-pale skin and he’s sitting on a bed.

Tony blinks. “Hi.” He says again, quietly.

“Nick,” she says “this is your roommate, Anthony Stark. And Tony, this is your roommate Nick Boyle.”

Mrs Behan tells him that Nick will show him where to get dinner, and that they should spend some time getting to know each other. She leaves, suddenly, and Tony is alone with a boy he doesn’t know, and there’s no way to get back home. He sits on his bed and plays with the quilt, he doesn’t really know what to do, so he just waits.

Nick grins. “Hi,” he says again “hi.”

Tony doesn’t look up.

“I’m Nick,” he repeats “my dad makes bottle lids.”

“I’m Anthony,” Tony says “my dad makes weapons.”

Nick blinks. “Cool.”

 

 

 

 

Nick and Tony have four days before everyone else come back from summer vacation. Nick shows him other people who stayed over summer and they’re all older than Tony and most of them are really weird. There’s a boy who hasn’t had a bath in weeks and this other guy called Joey whose nine and really hyper. He says that his parents can’t deal with him so they sent him here, but Tony likes him.

Nick isn’t that bad. He’s nice, and he shows Tony around and makes sure that he knows where everything is. He’s kinda funny, too, and Tony wouldn’t mind having him as a friend. He’s not like Lizzy or Billy, but Tony figures that since they’re gonna be sharing a room for a long time they might as well be friends.

“Don’t you talk?” Nick says the night before lessons are due to start. “Because you haven’t said anything atall for _ages.”_

“I talk.” Tony says, playing with his pillow.

Nick groans. “Yeah, but about what?” He says “You barely say anything to anyone.”

Tony’s cheeks flush. “I,” he begins “I t-talk.”

Nick’s eyes widen. “Do you stutter?” He says “Because my cousin stutters!” 

Tony looks up, eyes fierce. “I don’t stutter.” He says, eyes narrowed “that’s not funny.”

“No!” Nick says “No, sorry! I didn’t mean that,” he says “I’m sorry if I was rude.” And Nick looks real sad, suddenly, and Tony figures that he’s probably just been left here by his parents like the rest of them.

“Why are you here?” Tony asks, fingers still playing with the blanket.

Nick smiles. “My dad sent me here,” he says “he wants me to get the best education I can.”

Nick’s dad makes bottle caps, Tony remembers.

“But why are you here over summer?” Tony persists. He wants to know why other kids might have been thrown away and what they had to do to get _here._

“Because business is real busy,” he says, legs crossed on his bed, rocking happily “and my parents are moving house. I’m gonna get a new bedroom and everything, it’s so cool, I used to share with my brother, do you have any brothers?”

Tony blinks and tries to process the rapid-fire chattering. “Uh,” he shakes his head “no.”

“Do you have any pets?”

“No.”

“What about sisters? I have a little sister, she’s gonna come here next year.”

Tony shakes his head.

“Oh,” Nick says, frowning. “Why are _you_ here?”

Tony swallows. He doesn’t know.

“My mom’s sick,” he says “so my dad wants me to come somewhere else.” And he’s surprised by how easily the lie comes to his lips “I won’t be here for long.” He says confidently.

Nick’s smile falls. “Oh,” he says “okay. Does that mean I’ll get another roommate?”

Tony shrugs.

“Are you sure you have to leave?” Nick says, picking at the skin on his forehead “I don’t have any other friends.”

Tony blinks. Are he and Nick friends? That’s cool, kinda. Tony’s never had a real friend before, he’s not sure if Jarvis counts.

“Maybe not.” He says quickly “Maybe I can ask to stay.”

Nick grins.

 

 

 

 

That evening, Tony has his first nightmare.

The first of many, Tony learns. At the age of six, Tony kisses goodbye to deep sleep.

He dreams about monsters under the bed, climbing though the fire escape, dark shadows leaning over his face and crawling up the sheets and he screams.

He wakes up Nick.

“Are you okay?” Nick whispers loudly “Are you sick? Should I get the teacher?”

Tony blinks rapidly because he’s never had a nightmare that bad before. If he had, he would’ve had Jarvis, and he could go to his room and Jarvis would hug him and make sure it didn’t happen again. Now, Tony doesn’t even have Cap to keep him company.

He wants to go home so bad.

“I’m fine,” Tony whispers “sorry.”

Nick stares at him owlishly though the gloom. “It’s okay,” he says “I had nightmares at first.”

And then he climbs back under the quilt and snuggles back to sleep. Eventually, sleep catches Tony, too.

 

 

 

 

The next morning, Nick shows Tony their classroom. The older kids have different rooms for different classes, he explains, but the small kids have one room for all of them. They eat breakfast in the cafeteria, and nobody sits next to them.

Tony looks around. “How comes no one sits here?” He asks, pancake in mouth.

Nick looks down. “I guess maybe because they think I’m stupid.”

Tony frowns. “Are you stupid?”

Nick shrugs. “I don’t think so. I don’t think I’m _really_ stupid, I think the kids don’t like me because I came late last year.”

Tony says nothing.

Miss Behan finds him in the cafeteria and tells him that he needs to go to do some tests. She explains that it’s nothing to worry about, they just want to know what standard he’s at and stuff. Tony stands and goes with her which means that Nick is left alone in the corner of the room with all the other kids eating at crammed tables around him.

The man whose giving Tony the tests says that they’re not normal ones, and that they’re going to test his IQ. He says that IQ is kinda how clever a person is, but not really, so he shouldn’t beat himself up if he gets a low score.

Tony asks why no other kids are doing the test and the doctor tells him that it’s because his parents have asked for it specially. Huh. That’s weird.

The doctor asks him some questions using blocks and lego, and then asks him to tell him which pattern comes next. It’s all really easy, and the doctor frowns.

“Tony,” he says “have you done this before?”

Tony frowns. “No?” He says “Is that bad? Should I?”

The man squints and pushes his glasses up his nose. “Not at all, boy. You just continue with this, hold on a moment.”

Tony continues going through the patterns, tongue sticking out between his teeth. They’re easy, and kinda fun, so he doesn’t mind. The doctor is rifling through some papers, frowning, and he pulls out a few, puts them in front of Tony.

“Anthony,” he says, very serious “if you wouldn’t mind putting those aside for a moment.”

Tony blinks, and drops his pencil. It was getting boring anyway.

“Take a look at these,” he says and Tony looks at the page in front of him.

It’s lots of squares and circles, lines and dots, and some of them are shaded in. “Can you tell me which one is going to go next?” The doctor asks, pointing at one line of shapes, and Tony chews the end of his pencil.

If number one has three dots and half shade, and number two has two dots and full shade, then what would number three be? He picks an answer from the multiple choice at the bottom of the page.

The doctor frowns again. “Okay, Tony,” he says “you do some more.”

They’re harder than the first set and he has to think more. It takes him a bit longer, but he thinks he gets the right answers.

The doctor cleans his glasses on his shirt. “This isn’t hard for you, is it?” He says in disbelief.

“No,” Tony says “it’s kinda hard. I just need to think it through.”

The doctor shakes his head. “Okay,” he says, clearing his throat “let’s take a look at these ones.”

Tony blinks. On the page is a lot of math, and there aren’t any shapes.

Tony frowns. “I haven’t learnt this yet.”

The doctor leans close. “Figure it out.” He says, tapping Tony on the side of the head.

Tony chews his pencil. He’s seen x before in maths books and stuff but he’s never really used it. The equation at the top of the page is X + X = 2X, which makes sense. Underneath is another equation: X × X = X2.

He uses them to figure out the others, which it turns out aren’t even that hard. It’s just logic, and he completes the page in under an hour.

The doctor shakes his head, blinks. “Tony,” he says “are you sure your dad or someone hasn’t already done this with you?”

Tony shakes his head. Of course not, when would his dad have time to teach him something like this? It’s easy.

“Well then, Mr Tony,” the doctor smiles “if you’d just wait here one moment I have a call to make.”

Tony sits in the comfy chair by the door and the doctor gives him a lolly. He guesses that means he’s done well, because you get sweets if you’ve done something correctly, or if someone has died.

He hears the muffled voices outside the door and tries to imagine going home. He thinks he’s done well, maybe it will be enough for his dad to want him back.

A few minutes later, the doctor comes back with Miss Behan and another man. He smiles and tells Tony to take a seat back at the table.

“Well,” he says, shuffling the papers “Tony, you’re a very bright young man.”

Tony blinks. “Thank you?”

Miss Behan and the other man chuckle and the doctor reads some paper.

“We’ve decided to put you in for some advanced classes,” the man says, in low, rumbling voice “something that might actually pose a challenge.”

They look at him expectantly. “Uh,” Tony says, because he doesn’t know what else to do.

“We know you’ll do brilliantly,” Miss Behan says brightly with that horrific buttercup smile.

“We have a special class for people your age with special abilities, Tony,” the doctor says “you’ll fit right in. It must’ve been difficult at your old school having to sit through lessons when you already knew it all, huh?”

Tony doesn’t want to say no, doesn’t want to say that it was kinda fun just being able to do nothing, but that might be rude, so he nods.

“I thought so,” the doctor says, looking at the other adults “this kid’s a chip off the old block. Gonna be just like his father.”

 

 

 

 

Tony makes it out in time for lunch.

“Where were you?” Nick hisses “I had to sit alone in class!”

Tony passes food around his plate with his fork. “They were testing me,” he says “they wanted to see if I was clever.”

Nick frowns, anger forgotten. “Really? What did they do?"

Tony shrugs. “I dunno. They gave me lots of shapes and stuff, and I had to guess patterns. And then they gave me some math, and then the doctor left, and then he came in again, and then Miss Behan and some other guy told me that I’m gonna go to a different class.”

Nick blinks. “So you won’t be in my class?”

Tony makes a house out of fries. “Guess so.” He mumbles.

Nick’s face screws up. “That’s not,” he slams his fork onto the table “that’s not fair!”

“I d-don’t really want to,” Tony says quickly, stumbling over the words like he does when he gets nervous “I j-just, they said—”

“It’s not _fair!”_ Nick says, loudly, and Tony doesn’t like that, he doesn’t like it when people shout. Some of the other kids look over at their table.

“You’re supposed to _sit_ with me!” Nick whines loudly “Now what am I going to do!”

“You c-could,” Tony stutters “ask, ask the other k-k-kids.” He swallows hard, because he completely messed that up, he said it all wrong, oh no, he wasn’t _supposed_ to do that anymore—

“Miss!” Someone says “Nick’s playing up again.”

Nick stands and slams his chair to the floor. Tony makes himself small.

Some younger kids scream when the chair skitters across the floor. “It’s not _fair!”_ Nick screeches “it’s not fair, you’re supposed to be _my_ friend—”

Miss Behan is the one who takes him away. Nick kicks, works himself into a frenzy, and everyone is staring at him, and then they’re all staring at _Tony,_ and he feels his cheeks heating and words get lodged in his throat. He doesn’t know if he should keep eating or what, and everyone is completely silent.

He stumbles forward, knocking his hip against the table, and he thinks he’s going to cry, he doesn’t want to cry here, in front of everyone, but he can feel the lump in his throat and prickling in his eyes anyway. He manages to make it out the cafeteria but then he realises he can’t remember the way back to his room. 

He roams the corridors, panic building and building, and he feels shaky, feels tears in his eyes, and this isn’t fair, this never would have happened if Nick hadn’t been such a _baby,_ and he wants Jarvis so bad, he wants him to come right now and just take him away, take him back home and read him a story, because he’s lost and all the kids in the cafeteria will laugh at him, and he’s crying.

He stumbles around the block outside, and finds the boy’s dorms, but then he can’t remember how to get to his room. He starts to cry really, because he’s going to be late for lessons, and the teacher might shout at him in front of everyone and, oh God, what if they tell his _dad—_

“Hey!” Someone says “Hey, you all right kid?”

There’s a boy with dark skin, except it’s one of the older ones. They have lunch later than the kids and a lot of them spend it in their rooms, working or whatever. Tony’s never seen him before but he shakes his head, blubbering.

“I c-c-can’t f-find m-my _room,_ ” he cries “I d-don’t know, I don’t know where—”

The boy sighs and crouches down in front of him. He’s one of the older kids, in high school, which means he probably knows what he’s doing. “Hey, calm down,” he says, and there’s an unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth which is very against the rules “relax. What are you looking for, kiddo?”

Tony sniffs. “I— my room. I want to f-find m-m-my room.”

“Do you know where it is?” He says, flicking the cigarette from his mouth and twirling it over his fingers “you’re new here, aren’t you?”

Tony nods.

He snorts. “Goddamn rich folk sending their kids to school before they know how to walk. Come with me.”

He holds out his hand and takes Tony along the corridor and down some stairs. “What’s your name, kid?” He asks, stashing the cigarette in the back pocket of his jeans.

“T-tony Stark.” He says, sniffing.

The boy raises and eyebrow and looks down at him. “Tony _Stark?_ As in, Howard Stark? That guy’s your _dad?”_

“Uh huh.” Tony nods, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. The boy whistles low, clucks his tongue.

“Wow. You know your dad’s a war monger?”

Tony’s heard that word before, but he doesn’t really understand it. “What?” He asks, looking up, panic momentarily forgotten.

“It means he benefits from war.”

Tony frowns. “My d-d-dad d-doesn’t like war.”

“Who does?” The boy says “Probably not. But he still gets money off the back of it.”

“I d-don’t think so,” Tony says “my mom, my mom says that their isn’t any m-money.”

The boy frowns, looks left and right. “Listen Tony,” he says quietly, crouching down “you should keep that to yourself, yeah? Don’t repeat that to anyone.”

Tony nods, sniffs again, and lets himself be led down the corridor.

“How old are you, kid?” The boys asks.

“Six.” Tony says, proud that he doesn’t stutter.

“Six years old and already sent away, huh? Well, start as you mean to go on.”

Tony frowns. “W-what,” damn, he’s doing it again “what d-does that mean?”

“Nothing.” The boy says. “Do you know what class your in?”

Tony stalls. “I think— they t-told me it was an advanced c-class?”

“Oh,” the boy says “okay, that’s cool, you must be with Mr Lambert. I know where that is. It’s cool, he’s real nice, he’ll understand.”

Tony nearly sinks through the floor with relief. “D-d-do you think he’ll t-tell my d-dad?” Tony blurts out in a rush.

“Tell your dad what?”

“That I c-cried.”

The boy frowns. “No,” he says, voice strangely soft. “No, he won’t do that, Tony.”

Tony lets himself be tugged along the rest of the way. “Joey!” He shouts “Hey Joey!”

Tony recognises the kid from yesterday, the hyper one, and Tony is relieved to see a familiar face even if he is weird. “This is Tony, he’s got class with you.”

“Yeah, I know him, hey Tony.” Joey says in a rush “Do you want me to take him? I can take him, I was going early, I need to give Lambert my math, I can take him, it’s cool.”

Joey grins. “Don’t worry, Tony Stark, Joey’s good. He’s just a bit whacko.”

“I’m not whacko, you’re whacko,” he says, hopping from foot to foot “you coming Tony? You’re small, aren’t you, aren’t you a bit young to be going advanced class? Isn’t he a bit young to be in advanced class?” He says, turning to the boy.

“That’s Tony _Stark,_ Joey, his dad’s a big-shot weapons developer. Means that Tony’s probably really smart too, right?”

Tony looks at his feet and shrugs.

Joey grabs his elbow. “C’mon,” he says “we need to get there early, it’s cool, Lambert’s nice, you’ll see. Bye Michael.” He says, saluting casually.

“Bye, Joey. Bye Tony Stark.” The boy — Michael — grins.

Joey tells him that he’s in advanced class because he’s really, really clever even though he can’t read or write properly.

“The words squiggle round the page,” he explains “but I can do math in my head like crazy. I’m like a calculator.”

Tony nods. “Yeah.” he says, not sure what else to add.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Joey says, not cruel, just curious. 

“N-no,” Tony says “I think you just t-talk too much.”

Joey blinks. And then he laughs. “You’re funny.” He says.

There’s something warm in Tony’s chest. He’s never been called funny before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on Tony's stammer: I'm basing it off of my own childhood friend who developed one at a very early age after his mother died. He still has trouble with it now, but only when nervous. Tony's is made worse by the unfamiliar environment and the stress of being sent away.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In comics, or 616 canon, Whitney Frost definitely did not go to school with Tony Stark. I've changed that for various reasons, but anyway, enjoy.

That evening, Tony gets ready for bed himself. He brushes his teeth in the shared bathroom and washes his body with a sponge, and then gets into his blue and white striped pyjamas.

Miss Behan, dressed in a flowery nighty, asks how his first day was.

“Cool.” He says, and then goes into his room.

He climbs into bed, pulls the covers up over himself, and picks out a book from the ones Jarvis picked for him.

“Once upon a time,” he reads “there was an emperor.”

There’s a knock at the door and Tony looks up. There’s not supposed to be anyone coming into dorms after lights out.

But it’s just Nick. He’s dressed in red pyjamas with a green top, and he closes the door behind him, shuffles forward holding a plushy seal. “Hi,” he says, foot scuffing at the floor next to Tony’s bed. “Sorry I shouted at lunch. That wasn’t nice.”

Tony looks at his book. “It’s okay.” He says, fingers playing with the quilt.

Nick doesn’t say anything else and neither does Tony. But then the seal is shoved under his nose.

“My mom told me to pack him because she knows I get angry and stuff,” Nick says “and he helped with the nightmares at first. But I don’t really use him anymore. You can have him, if you like. To help.”

Tony blinks. “Uh,” he says “th-thanks.”

Nick’s face brightens. “You’ll keep him?” He says.

Tony nods, because he left his shark at home, and because without Jarvis he’s alone, and because he doesn’t want a nightmare, and he doesn’t want to wet the bed. “Yeah,” he says “it’s c-cool. He’s c-cool. D-d-does he have a n-name?”

Nick shrugs. “Call him what you want.” He says, padding to his bed, yawning.

Tony snuggles down, pulling the seal close. Nick switches off the light next to his bed.

It’s okay like this. Tony can handle this. At night, where the rules mean that no one can come and talk to him, and everyone has to listen to what Miss Behan says. Seal is warm and fuzzy and his fur tickles Tony’s cheek like his dad’s beard.

“Tony,” Nick whispers.

“Yeah?” Tony replies.

“Are we still friends?” He says.

Nick apologised _and_ he gave Tony the seal. “Yeah.” He says quietly.

A beat.

“Thank you.” Nick says.

 

 

 

 

That first week passes in a blur.

He wakes up, gets ready, goes down to breakfast and sits alone with Nick. Then, he goes to class, which is a small group of kids who are apparently all super smart. They’re all really weird, and Tony figures that means he’s weird too. Joey’s kinda cool, though, he _is_ really good at math and he’s funny, too.

After that, he goes to lunch, sits alone with Nick, and then goes back to classes. He has free time after lessons but because he’s in advanced they give him some work to do. Tony does it, and then goes back to his room and sits, sometimes reading, sometimes just hiding, until dinner.

That weekend, Miss Behan says it’s letter writing day. All the other kids go up to get their letters while Tony sits at his table, kicking his feet and playing with his shirt.

Miss Behan puts a piece of paper in front of him. “You write home to your mommy and daddy,” she says “and we put the address on the front. Just make sure you put your name down so we know who you are.”

A letter? Tony gets to write letters? Miss Behan asks if he needs any help, and he shakes his head because of course not.

He doesn’t know who to write to. Mom? Dad? 

He wants to write to dad, he wants to tell him how much he hates it here, to please, please, _please_ let him come home. He wants to say he’ll do anything, he won’t fidget, or ask stupid questions, or whatever, but he doesn’t think his dad will let him come home anyway.

He could write to mom. She might reply, but she’s say something like, ‘miss you, study hard, have fun’ and that would be a waste. In fact, she probably wouldn’t reply at all.

Tony puts his pencil on the paper. ‘Dear Jarvis,’ he starts.

 

 

 

 

September takes too long to crawl by.

His dad promised that he could come home for Thanksgiving, he had said that, he had said that Tony could come home. Jarvis writes saying that he can’t wait to see him, that he hopes Tony is having fun, and for some reason Tony makes stuff up about friends and lessons and sports and pretends that if he writes about it enough it might become real.

Tony doesn’t really have friends. Nick is his friend, and Joey. But the rest of the kids don’t talk to him. It’s not their fault, every time they try to talk to him Tony gets all sweaty, and his mouth won’t make the words and when he _does_ get them out he stumbles over them. His dad is gonna be so mad when he hears because Tony’s not _supposed_ to stutter anymore, and they payed all that money to make him stop.

He keeps having nightmares and the seal doesn’t work. He makes Nick _swear_ not to tell because he doesn’t want Miss Behan smiling at him with her fish-smile and wide eyes and trying to help. He doesn’t need help, he just needs to go home.

He hates it here, he _hates_ it. He hates his mom for letting his dad send him here and he wants Jarvis.

Mid-November, Jarvis sends a letter saying he’s very sorry but Tony can’t come home for Thanksgiving. He says that he can’t write about all of it, but he doesn’t think home is a very good place right now, and that there’s a lot of adult stuff that Tony can’t understand. But he says that he knows Tony will be brave about it and that he’ll see him at Christmas.

Tony gets sick after that and he spends three days in the school’s infirmary. 

 

 

 

 

Nearly everyone else goes home for Thanksgiving, even Nick, and Tony is left all alone. 

Miss Behan gives Tony that big wide smile and tells him to keep his chin up, there’s plenty for them to do.

Tony spends the week _avoiding_ her and exploring the school instead. He figures if he’s going to spend like, the rest of his life here, he might as well know where he’s going.

He goes to the girls dorm and sees if he can find anyone but they’ve all gone home too. Girls and boys share lessons in high school but are separate for the younger years for some reason so Tony doesn’t know any of the girls very well.

The girls dorms aren’t very exciting but they do smell a bit better, not as mouldy. He trails around the corridors, counting the doors and timesing them by ten.

It’s kinda boring but he’s finished all his books and he hasn’t figured out where the library is yet. He wishes that he could find somewhere to build stuff but Miss Behan says he’s too small and that’s not allowed.

He stumbles back out into the sunshine, bored. He doesn’t want to find anyone else because he doesn’t want to talk to them, so he goes and sits under a tree by the lake.

The school _is_ very pretty. In the distance he can see mountains which the students are allowed to ski on in the winter if they get permission. In the summer, Miss Behan says some of the older kids take boats out on the lake, or go swimming. Even now, in late autumn, Tony can see where the water is crystal clear.

Eventually, he winds his way back to the cafeteria. There’s only a handful of students now, and they all sit at on large table with Miss Behan and some other house mothers. Nobody really talks except for Miss Behan, who never shuts up.

On holidays, the official bedtime is nine o’clock for the little kids because breakfast is at ten, but Tony doesn’t have anything to do so he spends most of the time in his room anyway, drawing pictures. He’s designing a flying machine, something that he could wear on his back and fly all the way home to New York wearing.

He falls asleep at the desk and when he wakes up someone has moved him to the bed.

The next day, Tony sets out in search of the library. He’s determined to find something to do, even if it is just sitting in a library reading books. He actually asks Miss Behan to show him, and she beams, leads him around the quad to a redstone building, the last one by the woods. 

She lets him explore himself and makes him promise to be back in time for lunch, but that’s okay. For the first time, Tony feels kinda happy. Nobody is here to bother him, and the only other person in the library is the old woman who sits at the desk and sleeps most of the time.

He pads over to the kids section but the books are boring and too small. He moves further down the shelves, to the very back, where everything is dusty, and very, very quiet. Tony doesn’t think anyone comes back here anymore.

He loves it. He drags one of the bean bags from the kids area down the winding lanes of books, back, back, back, until he finds his corner. He’s hemmed in by a row of books that stretch sixteen feet in front and a wall to his right. There are no windows, and the bookshelves mean that he’s got a decently sized square in which to read.

He sets about picking interesting books, books on science, yes, but also stories, stories about dragons, and pirates, and cowboys, and _astronauts._ Tony would love to be an astronaut, going into space would be so cool. His dad got him a map for his birthday, and it showed all the planets like Neptune and Jupiter and Pluto, the smallest planet. Tony likes Pluto the best because it’s small — he’s small, too.

He makes it out in time for lunch and then goes back after. That evening, he takes a pile of books back to his room and reads some more.

His days move like that for a while. Wake up, eat, read, eat, read, eat, read, sleep. He loves his corner, no one has bothered him at all, or tried to talk to him, or made fun of him, and with all these books it’s fun, too.

One day near the end of the holiday, he’s reading in his corner, and he’s completely engrossed, so he doesn’t notice at first.

But slowly, his attention is drawn to the girl peeking her head round the corner, staring at him. He pretends not to notice, hoping that she’ll go away and leave him alone, that he won’t have to talk, won’t have to have the words get choked in his throat and crack from his lips like broken things.

She doesn’t leave. Instead, she shuffles forward. Her feet are bare and she’s wearing a loose cotton dress. There’s dirt under her nails.

“You don’t talk,” she says, standing in front of him “I see you at lunch. You never talk.”

Tony swallows. “I t-talk.” He manages and kicks himself mentally, because why is he being so silly, there is absolutely no reason for the words to get lost in his mouth, he needs to grow up and stop being such a baby.

The girls eyes narrow. “Do you read?” She asks, sliding closer.

Tony gulps. “Yeah,” he says “I mean, no, sometimes, I d-don’t, I’m b-b-bored.”

She nods, as if he’s said something important. “I read.” She says, and then she sits down, _without_ invitation, and crosses her legs.

“Uh,” Tony blinks, doesn’t know how to ask what she’s doing or to tell her to leave.

“I’m Whitney,” she says “I’m six.”

“I’m T-t-tony,” he says “I’m six, too.”

She nods again and drags a book onto her lap, flicks through the pages lazily. “Is this your spot?” She says, looking up.

Tony nods.

“It’s cool.” She says.

Tony nods again. He doesn’t know what to say.

“Why are you here?” She asks, and she asks a lot of questions that Tony doesn’t want to answer.

“Because, because my parents put me here.” He says, voice dipping in and out of whisper. The library is warm, and Tony can see the dust floating in the air. Their voices don’t travel far.

“Same.” She says “My dad wants me away, too.”

Tony blinks. “Is he… is that okay?”

She frowns. “Yeah. My dad is cool.”

“So’s mine.” Tony says quickly “He makes weapons.”

“Is your dad your real dad?” Whitney asks, biting gnawed at nails, straggly hair framing her face.

Tony’s head falls to the side. “What?”

“Like, is your dad your real dad or is he someone else? Because I’m _adopted._ ” She says proudly, hands coming to rest on her crossed legs.

“Wow,” Tony says, putting the book down “that’s cool.”

She nods. “I know.”

They sit in silence for a while, Whitney looking around Tony’s make-shift home and Tony picking at the material of the bean bag.

“Whitney isn’t my real name.” She says finally, staring at Tony. “I chose it. My dad let me. He’s really cool like that. My real name is GiGi. Or Giuletta. But no one calls me that now, so it’s okay.”

Tony nods.

“It’s Italian.” She says. “You’re Italian.”

“Yeah,” Tony mumbles “I guess.”

“We should be friends.” Whitney says with finality “Because we’re both Italian.”

Tony looks up. “Uh,” he says.

Whitney sighs loudly. “Do you _ever_ say _anything?_ I want to be _friends!_ Come on!”

Tony wants friends, too. He doesn’t understand why Whitney would want him, though.

“I, okay,” Tony says quickly “l-lets be friends.”

Whitney smiles. “Good. If we’re friends now, can I share this place? Because the other girls won’t let me play with them and I like books.”

Tony nods. “S-sure.”

She grins again. “And we have to go to lunch and dinner together? And breakfast. And we have to hang out even after the holiday is finished.”

“Yeah,” Tony says, more enthusiastically, because Whitney wants to be friends _after_ the holiday, too, which means that Tony won’t be so alone. 

“Do you have any other friends?” Whitney asks, playing with her hair.

Tony thinks. “Nick is my roommate,” he says “and I have classes with J-joey, whose really clever, b-but a b-b-bit weird.”

Whitney wrinkles her nose. “ _Nick_ is weird,” she says “he gets really angry really quickly.”

“He’s not b-bad,” Tony says “he’s just a b-b-bit strange.”

Whitney shrugs. “Whatever. I’m your friend now.”

 

 

 

 

Tony and Whitney spend what’s left of the holiday together. Tony finds that she’s actually kinda funny and that she _speaks_ Italian, too, so they can have secret conversations that no one else can understand.

She loves reading and even though Tony doesn’t like it _that_ much they spend a lot of time in the library. Tony will read the difficult books out loud, and he’ll do the voices and everything. He finds it easy to talk around Whitney because she does most of it for him.

He doesn’t see her often after school starts up again because they don’t have lessons together and she lives in the girl’s dorms anyway, but she sits next to him and Nick at lunch, even though she doesn’t like him.

One day, they’re in the library, and it’s cold out because winter has arrived. They’re in their corner and today they’re reading a book about a Russian princess, even though she’s not really a princess. Tony doesn’t know what’s happening but Whitney loves the descriptions of clothes and stuff so he keeps reading.

Nick finds them. Tony’s mid-way though doing the crazy-old-wizard voice when Nick interrupts.

“What are you doing?” He asks, frowning down at them.

Whitney and Tony share a look. “Reading.” Tony says.

Nick crosses his arms. “Can I join?”

“No.” Whitney says “You can’t, go away.”

Nick swallows. “I just want to listen.”

Whitney sticks her nose into the air. “No,” she says again “ _I’m_ listening.”

Tony doesn’t know what to do. He kinda doesn’t want Nick here, because he actually likes Whitney a lot more, but Nick is his friend _and_ his roommate.

Tony continues, but Nick doesn’t leave. He sidles behind Tony and peers over his shoulder. Tony begins to stutter.

“Stop it!” Whitney says, and Tony flushes because he thinks she’s talking to him. “Go away! Now look what you’ve done, he’s talking funny again.

Tony blinks, mortified. “I d-don’t t-t-talk funny.”

“Yeah, you do,” Whitney says “but it’s okay, I _don’t care,_ but he,” she points at Nick “is messing it up.”She turns to the other boy. “Go away,” she says, firmly “you’re messing him up and he’s reading to _me._ ”

Nick looks like he’s going to cry. And then his face gets all screwed up, and he starts going red. He turns, and runs, and they hear screaming where Nick starts beating his hands against the wooden table down by the entrance.

People whisper and he wakes up the old librarian. Someone must have gone and got a teacher because then there’s a woman leading him away, still screaming.

Whitney’s nose wrinkles. “He’s so weird.”

Tony can’t help but agree.

 

 

 

 

It gets a little, just a little bit better with Whitney as his friend. Nick won’t leave him alone, he keeps asking him to sit with him, read to him, talk to him, play with him, and it’s getting annoying. Tony likes him, kinda, but he wants to spend time with Whitney as well, and plus, Nick _is_ weird.

Still, he misses home. He keeps writing letters to his Mom, his Dad, but only Jarvis ever replies. Every Saturday, on letter day, all the kids get up to get their letters from their parents. A lot of them even go home on weekends, or have their relatives visit. No one ever comes for Tony, and the only letters he gets are from Jarvis.

He hates it here.

 

 

 

 

The rest of the semester crawls by. Tony spends it with Whitney, reading and drawing. Sometimes, they make up games and play at imagining and that’s fun too.Whitney says that Tony’s really funny.

She says that she’s going home to her parents over Christmas and that she lives in New York. Tony says that _he_ lives in New York, and Whitney says that he should come and live with her instead of going home because she hasn’t got any brothers or sisters or anything, and her parents adopted her so maybe they can adopt Tony too.

(Tony told her some stuff about Mom and Dad that he probably shouldn’t’ve.)

Tony has sent letters home begging to come back for Christmas, but Jarvis just keeps saying that he needs to wait, that it’s complicated, that Jarvis really wants him home but he needs his Dad’s permission first.

The first time it snows, Tony and Whitney build an igloo. Tony explains how to make it stay up using math and pi, and Whitney listens. She picks it up pretty quick but lets Tony do the calculations anyway.

Soon, other kids join in. They’re all building, everyone making their own block, and Tony is in charge. They all listen to him when he tells them how many blocks they need, where they should put them. It’s actually really fun, and the kids even pretend they can’t hear his stammer.

Nick ruins it.

Tony doesn’t know _why,_ but he gets angry again and smashes the igloo to pieces. Tony is so _mad_ after that, because he spent _ages_ building it, and everyone was listening to him, and it was special, and why did Nick have to ruin it? All the kids leave after that, and Tony is left with the remains of his igloo.

That night, when Nick comes back to their room, Tony doesn’t even talk to him. He just turns over and wilfully ignores him, blocks out his ears until Nick stops apologising and goes to sleep. 

Tony cries, that night, silently into his pillow, because he wants to go home, but for the first time he’s starting to think that it might be worse there than here, and now he has nowhere at all.

 

 

 

 

 

Jarvis writes the next day to tell him that he _is_ coming home for Christmas. Tony is so excited that he forgets to be mad at Nick and everything, and he runs straight to Whitney. She’s happy too, because she says she knows what it’s like to be stuck somewhere you hate.

Tony reckons that if he can tell his dad how much he hates it, and show him how well he’s doing in class, he’ll _have_ to let him come home, definitely. He’ll see how much Tony hates it here, how much he wants to leave, and he’ll let him stay in New York. Jarvis said that there were _loads_ of good schools in New York, and that Jarvis would be happy to take him. Tony just needs to make his dad see.

 

 

 

 

The day Tony leaves for winter break, Nick makes him promise to write. He never does. Whitney makes him promise to come back after and Tony shrugs and says he hopes he doesn’t, but if so, he’ll miss her most.

Tony is excited. He hasn’t seen his parents in months and he wants to see Jarvis so bad.

It’s the Christmas that everything falls apart.

 


	6. Chapter 6

When Tony gets back home he realises he would maybe rather stay at school.

Jarvis picks him up the day after the school breaks up. He’s right there, at the gates, and when Miss Behan tells him that the butler is here to pick him up in a disapproving tone, Tony doesn’t even notice, he just races down the stairs, through the corridors, out the door and over the quad and straight into Jarvis’ arms.

“Hey little man,” he says, lifting Tony into the air “how you doing?”

Tony squeezes his neck, tight. It’s the smell of him, that warm, comforting smell, the one he remembers, and the feel of him beneath his arms, the way he picks him up and makes him feel like everything is going to be alright again.

“G-good.” Tony says and Jarvis puts him down, stares at him.

“You haven’t grown much,” he says worriedly “is he eating?” He asks Miss Behan who nods vigourously. 

“Absolutely,” she says “I see him eat breakfast, lunch and dinner. I wouldn’t worry, dear, some children are just slow developers.”

Jarvis raises an eyebrow and turns back to Tony. “We’re gonna be staying the night at a hotel, just us, how does that sound?”

Tony grins and tries to jump high enough to get eye level with him. “F-f-fun.” He says “C-can we g-get ice cream?”

Jarvis’ smile turns pained as if there’s something wrong. “Why don’t you wait in the car,” he says “and I’ll get Johnny to load your stuff in. I just want to talk to Miss Behan, ok?”

Tony grins again, practically skipping to the car, until he remembers that he’s not a baby and he should take it slow.

“When did the stammer start?” Jarvis says in a really low voice because he thinks Tony can’t hear.

Miss Behan frowns. “I thought he always had it.”

Jarvis looks back at Tony, face worried, and leads Miss Behan away so Tony can’t hear anymore.

 

 

 

 

That night, in a hotel somewhere, Tony crawls into bed with Jarvis. 

He reads him a story, and they laugh, and afterwards, Tony doesn’t go back into his own bed and just stays, warm and safe, for the first time in three months.

 

 

 

 

At home, everything is quiet.

Tony does not see any of the help. He does not hear his parents.

Jarvis warns him to keep it down and explains that his Mom is ill. He doesn’t elaborate but says that he can see her when she wakes up. Tony’s not that bothered, really, but it would be nice if she had come to say hello.

Jarvis says that Dad is at work, but that he’s coming home early _especially_ for Tony. Tony blinks, because is Jarvis lying? Dad is coming home _for him?_ Oh wow. This is going to be the best Christmas _ever._

Jarvis tells Tony to put on something comfortable and come outside because they’re going to build a snowman. Tony tells Jarvis about his igloo, and how Nick ruined it, and Jarvis shakes his head.

“Some children are like that, Tony,” he says sadly “they don’t know how to act.”

Tony just throws a snowball at Jarvis’ head and giggles because it gets all over him and he looks like he has a snow beard.

Later, he gets changed again and they eat lunch and have hot cocoa in front of the big fire in the lounge. Jarvis says that tomorrow the people will be delivering the big tree, the huge one that goes in front of the main stairs in the foyer, but that Jarvis waited until Tony arrived to do the smaller tree.

Tony even gets to put the star on top.

That afternoon, Tony sits with Jarvis in the kitchen, feet swinging where they can’t quite reach the ground. “J-jarvis,” he says “what’s wrong with M-m-mom.”

Jarvis sighs, and Tony can’t tell if it’s because of Mom or because Tony’s talking all funny. He doesn’t answer though, and instead just drinks more of his tea.

“You’ll see her later, little man.”

 

 

 

 

That evening, Tony’s Dad _does_ come and see him.

“Hey, Tones,” he says, ruffling his hair and yawning. “How’re you doing?”

Tony’s entire stomach is a pit of nerves. He missed his Dad _so much,_ but he doesn’t want, his Dad to be angry because he’s talking all funny again. He _looks_ like he’s in a good mood, and he’s visiting, which means it’s probably one of those times where he suddenly wants to do stuff with him. But those times can go real quick, and everything Tony does starts getting on his nerves, so he has to be careful.

He swallows. “G-g-good.” He says, and freezes, waits for the hammer to fall, for his Dad to speak.

“That’s nice, kiddo,” is all his dad says, looking at his watch. “You have fun at school?”

Tony nods.

“Good, good. Say, you haven’t seen your Mom yet, have you?”

Tony shakes his head.

Dad grins. “Good, good. That’s good, I mean, she’s ill, so. Probably best to stay away. I was thinking maybe I could take you down to the workshop tomorrow,” he says absently “start working on that circuit board.”

Tony blinks. Oh _wow._

“Yeah!”  He says, sitting up straighter “That would b-be really c-c-cool!”

Howard flicks through the book on Tony’s bedside, yawns again. “Yeah,” he repeats “just you and me. The boys. It’ll be fun.” And it sounds a bit like he’s trying to convince himself more than anything else.

They fall into silence, then, because Tony doesn’t want to upset his dad by talking and Howard doesn’t make any more conversation.

“So,” he says finally, standing and brushing imaginary lint from his clothes “tomorrow, yeah?” He ruffles his hair “Good to see you, Tones, I’m your favorite, right?” He says, grinning expectantly.

“Y-yeah.” He says “You’re the c-c-coolest.”

“That’s what I thought, kiddo. He’s ready for bed, Ed,” Dad calls “I’ll see you tomorrow, Tones.”

He leaves, nodding to Jarvis on the way out and Tony grins, he can’t help it. Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow, his dad is gonna help him make a _circuit board,_ that’s so _cool,_ he’s never going to sleep tonight, he’s too excited.

“J-jarvis,” he says “J-j-jarvis, D-dad is g-gonna help m-me m-m-make a thing!” He says, squirming under the covers. He squeals, this really loud noise, and tucks the blanket under his chin, wriggles with excitement.

Jarvis pats his knee, and smiles, except he doesn’t look as happy as Tony.

“That’s nice, little man.” He says, and he shakes his head.

“What’s wrong?” Tony asks, head cocking to the side. He’s so excited that every little movement is exaggerated, he’s practically vibrating.

“Nothing,” Jarvis says softly, one hand resting on his knee “I just don’t want you to be… I wouldn’t want for you to maybe feel disappointed. If something comes up. Or your dad can’t make it.”

Tony blinks. And then his smile falls. “You d-don’t, D-d-dad’s not gonna m-make a thing with m-me tomorrow, is he?”

“No, no!” Jarvis says quickly “No, I mean, he will. He might. But it won’t, please, Tony,” Jarvis says, peering closer “please don’t be sad if it’s not what you want.”

Tony sniffs. “I’m n-n-not a b-baby, Jarvis. I _understand._ ” He says, crossing his arms. “I g-get it.”

Jarvis pauses. “Get what, Tony?” He says quietly.

Tony kicks the covers from his legs, crosses his arms. He doesn’t want to cry, doesn’t _want_ to be a baby, but Jarvis is gonna make him say it anyway.

“I k-k-know that M-m-mom and D-d-dad d-don’t,” he swallows, and he feels a surge of frustration because _why won’t the words come out,_ why aren’t they coming out the way he _wants_ them to, why are they all broken and cracked and stumbled, he sounds like a freak. “I know,” he says, very slowly “that they,” he focuses, pauses, works on getting this word out right “don’t, don’t, don’t—”

He balls up his hands in frustrations, bangs them against the sheets. Jarvis slides a hand down his arm, tries to calm him, but it’s not fair, it’s not, because he talks like a big baby and he might spend time with Dad tomorrow and his Dad might say “Tony, why are you talking like a baby?” And Tony won’t be able to answer because the words will get stuck in his throat and he’ll just say them over and over and over and it won’t work, and his Dad will frown, or _worse,_ he’ll _laugh,_ like last time, and Tony will go red and just want the whole world to disappear because he’s been an idiot in front of _Dad._

“It’s okay, Tony.” Jarvis soothes, curling a sheet round his shoulders.

“It’s n-n-n-n- _not_ okay,” he bawls, kicking his feet “it’s n-n-n-n-not, not, not, not _okay!”_ He shouts, fingers screwed into the sheets, tears burning his eyes as he tries desperately not to let them spill down his cheeks.

“No no no, Tony,” Jarvis says calmly “shh, of course it’s okay, we can make it better, the stammer can go away like it did last time, it’s okay, shh.”

Tony shakes his head, the tears finally falling, sobbing, and bubbling, and he’s shaking his head, wordless, until:

“B-b-b-b-but he, he, he, he, he’ll think, think I’m a b-b-b-b- _baby!”_ He cries.

“Oh, Tony,” and Jarvis just holds him, just scoops him into his arms as if Tony is his own, as if Tony is his little boy, not Howard’s, or Maria’s, just his, and he’ll do what he can to help him, to _protect him,_ because no one else ever will, from day one Tony has always been alone and that’s not right, it’s not fair, no child, no _person_ , should ever, _ever,_ have to be alone.

Tony cries for a while, even though he knows that it’s stupid, that he’s stupid, and that if his Dad finds out he’s gonna be mad again, but he can’t stop. He doesn’t want to make a thing with Dad tomorrow, he doesn’t want to, because oh God oh God what if Dad hears him talk? Then he’s gonna be in big trouble and Dad might laugh, or he might shout, and it’s too risky, he’s changed his mind.

The next day, Tony’s Dad forgets anyway. So Tony, age six, makes his first circuit board all by himself.

 

 

 

 

Later, Tony visits his Mother.

Her room is dark. The blinds are closed, and there’s only one fire in the grate, casting the room in orange shadows. She’s in bed, lying on her side, sheets shifting with the rise and fall of her breath.

Tony shouldn’t be here. It’s just that Jarvis is staying overnight in the city for the party shopping and it’s not like he can talk to his Dad, and it’s just, he had a nightmare, and he knows it’s maybe a bit silly to climb into bed with your Mom at _six,_ but still.

He shuffles quietly, tiptoeing silently. He doesn’t want to wake her up, he just wants to slip in before she even notices, and then he’ll go in the morning, it’s fine, she doesn’t ever have to know.

But as he delicately pulls back the covers and shuffles in, his Mom stirs.

“Howard?” She says, voice groggy “Howard, not tonight, _Caro.”_ She turns, hair sliding over her pillow, frown forming between her eyes.

“Mom,” Tony whispers, frozen “Mom, it’s me. Tony.”

Her eyes crack open, her frown deepens. “Anthony? Tony, what,” she coughs, feels Tony with her hand, tries to gauge whether or not he is real “you’re supposed to be school, _Tesoro,_ why are you home?” She sits up, the strap of her nightdress falling down one shoulder “What’s wrong, are you, are you ill?” She feels his head, still groggy, frowning.

“N-no.” Tony says “Mom, it’s Christmas. I’m on holiday.”

“Oh,” she says, sliding back down “oh, I didn’t know. That’s nice.”

“I had a n-n-nightmare.”

“Hmm,” his mother says, already falling back to sleep “okay.”

“C-c-can I,” he swallows “can I— I— I, c-can I stay here?”

“Mmm’, sure sweetie, sure.”

Tony shuffles down the bed, rolls the covers over his shoulders. His mother mumbles something that he doesn’t understand. “Mom?” He whispers.

“Go to sleep, _Bamino._ ” She murmurs, turning so that she’s facing away “Go to bed.”

 

 

 

 

“Jarvis,” Tony asks, a few days later when he’s come back from the Christmas shopping “Why _is_ M-mom in b-b-bed?”

Jarvis is putting away some cranberry sauce into the big refrigerator, but he pauses. “I’ll tell you later, Tony.”

Tony pouts, crosses his arms. “You _always_ say th-that.” He mumbles “I’m n-n-not _stupid.”_

Jarvis sighs. “I know, Tony, I never said you were.”

“Then _t-t-tell_ me.”

Jarvis puts some shopping on the island in the center of the kitchen. “It’s complicated, Tony.”

“Jarvis!” Tony says in irritation “Stop it, I want t-t-to _know._ ”

Jarvis crouched by Tony’s seat at the table. “First of all,” he says “I don’t think you’re stupid. It’s just that this is a big thing for a little man to understand, okay?”

“Okay.” Tony says despondently.

Jarvis runs a hand over his face, rubs at his eyes. “Look, Tony,” he says, shifting on his feet. He pauses. “Why don’t, why don’t we go outside, okay? I’ll explain properly out there.”

Later, Tony is dressed in his boots and scarf in the snow under the shade of the three trees. He kicks snow out the way as Jarvis follows him dutifully, occasionally dodging chunks of ice that come his way when Tony misses his mark.

“Tony,” he says, clearing a spot on the wooden bench by the fountain “come here.”

Tony knows that this means he’s gonna find out something Really Important, or maybe that he’s gonna get told off, but Jarvis took him out here to tell him something, so probably it’s something Really Important.

“Tony,” he says again, after he’s sat down “I need you to listen, okay? And then you can ask lots of questions after.”

Tony nods and kicks his feet, letting the tips trail in the snow. He gets it, he just wishes Jarvis would hurry up.

“Before,” Jarvis starts, and then stops, frowning. “When, Tony, look, when you weren’t even born yet,” Jarvis starts again “your Mommy was pregnant.”

Tony squints. “As in, like, she had a b-baby in her t-t-tummy?”

Jarvis nods. “That’s right.”

Tony frowns. “B-b-but b-babies have to b-be b-b-born?”

“They do.” Jarvis nods “But sometimes, a baby can die while it’s still in it’s Mommy’s tummy.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Jarvis says, exhaling “and your Mommy had a few babies that all died before they could really be born.”

Tony hangs his head “That’s k-kinda sad.”

Jarvis nods. “That’s right, it is.”

“So you m-mean, I c-coulda’ had b-brothers? Or sisters?”

Jarvis looks at him. “Yes.” He says “You could’ve. But, here’s the thing, Tony, your Mommy is pregnant _again._ So you might still have a chance.”

Tony blinks. “What?”

“Your Mom is pregnant again, Tony. She’s got another baby in her belly, do you understand?”

Tony frowns. “You m-mean, I’m gonna have a little b-b-brother? Or sis-sister?”

“That’s right, Tony.”

Tony thinks. Woah. That’s actually kinda cool.

“Is that why M-mom’s in b-b-bed? Because the b-baby needs rest t-too or something?”

Jarvis considers. “A little bit, yes. The doctor said, because the other babies didn’t, well, because they didn’t get to be born, your Mom has to spend a lot of time in bed. She can’t be too busy, or get stressed out, because then she might hurt the baby.”

Tony grins. “That’s so c-cool!”

Jarvis nods. “It is. But it means that you can’t be too noisy, or scare your Mom or anything.”

Tony smiles. “Are they gonna name it? What if it’s a girl? Could it be a girl?”

“It could.”

“Do they want a girl?”

“Your parents don’t mind as long as it’s healthy.”

“How long till it’s born? Will I be at school?”

“You would be on summer vacation.”

“Woah. Will they tell me when it’s born?”

“You’ll know.”

“Will I get to hold it?”

“Maybe.”

Tony’s mind is reeling. A _baby!_ Tony’s always wanted a brother or sister, it doesn’t matter if they’re younger. It would be nice to have someone else be shouted at sometimes or hide him when Dad comes for him.

Jarvis is watching him carefully but Tony just giggles. “That’s so _cool!”_

Jarvis smiles softly. “Tony,” he says “how are you feeling right now?”

Tony frowns “What do you mean?”

“Do you feel worried at all?”

“Uh?”

“Never mind, little man,” Jarvis says, scruffing his hair and standing “let’s go in. It’s starting to snow.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments on how you think it's shaping up are loved and are a massive help! Every time you comment you convince me to actually continue writing these stupid things.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for attempted non-con between two adults.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm going to start updating this with shorter chapters. This SHOULD mean I update regularly, instead of leaving it for weeks on end like I do with the rest of my work. I'm justifying it by saying that, since it's all from a child's perspective, it's supposed to be all cut up but really I just want to finish Control, Weight of Living, Liquid Lunch and Seven Things before I focus SOLELY on this.

Three days later is the Stark’s annual Christmas benefit and this year it’s being held at the mansion.

This means that Tony has to spend all his time upstairs hiding because he is most definitely not allowed to go. Even his Mom is going, even though it’s only for a little bit. The worst part is that Jarvis is going as well, so Tony’s gonna be all alone too.

He hears the party from downstairs, but doesn’t really want to go and spy and see what’s happening just in case his Dad finds him and shouts at him in front of everyone. But Jarvis had said he would be back by 11pm and Tony can see on the clock that it’s 11:47pm which means he’s kinda late.

(Tony taught himself the time over Thanksgiving)

So Tony gathers all his courage and he sneaks out his door. He’s done this before, a million times, it’s just that tonight has been a party, and that means, well, his Dad might, you know.

He sidles down the corridor, carefully placing one foot in front of the other. He jumps at everything, every noise and every shadow. He keeps hearing things and then realising he’s imagining it.

Until he hears low voices down the corridor. Thumping.

He should go back. He should. Because he thinks it might be Dad. But then he hears Jarvis’ voice:

“Howard,” a grunt, another thump “stop, what are you—”

He hears mumbling, a low laugh, and the ‘thunk’ of a bottle as it hits the carpet and rolls into view.

“J,” his dad slurs, and he’s drunk, Tony knows that, and he needs to go, because Dad can get real mad when he’s drunk. “J, J, Ed, Edwin, my friend, just,” a hiccup “one more, for old times sake, just one—”

Tony hears the sound of skin slapping against the wooden walls. “No, Howard, c’mon, lets get you to bed.”

“To bed?” And his Dad hiccups again, their shadows growing taller on the walls “Yesss, yes, to, to bed, J, that’s what I want, you know, you know you want it too.”

He sees where his Dad’s shadow falls when Jarvis stops holding him up.

He doesn’t understand what’s happening. Why would Dad want to go to bed with Jarvis? Is it like… maybe it’s like Tony? Because Tony will go to bed with Jarvis sometimes, when he’s had a nightmare, maybe Dad does too?

Except that’s weird. Dad’s a grown up.

“Howard!” Jarvis hisses “Stop. You’re drunk, go to bed.”

He sees his Dad stand. “Oh honey,” he says, honey, that’s what he calls Mom, and he pushes against Jarvis until he’s against the wall “you’re not even,” he pants “not even fighting me, c’mon, J, I need this—”

Tony’s Dad kisses Jarvis. He can hear the noises.

“Stop!” Jarvis says, and he’s not even whispering “Stop, Howard, your wife is pregnant—”

“I don’t care about her like I care about you,” Dad says, fast “I don’t want her, I just, God, J, give me this, let me have this, I just, I want to be happy for one moment—”

“Get off me.” Tony sees Jarvis’ shadow push his Dad away.

Tony doesn’t understand. It’s kinda like his Dad want to kiss Jarvis like he used to kiss Mom, but that can’t be right because Dad is a man and men don’t kiss other men unless it’s on the cheek like Mom’s brother did that one time he visited.

“J, please, Eddy, c’mon, what’s changed, what’s wrong, you used to,” hiccup “you used to love it—”

“I respect Maria too much for this, Howard.”

“Respect?” Dad growls “Bullshit. Bullshit, you’re just, come on, J, give me this, you fag, give me this one thing—”

“You need to sleep, Howard.”

“After everything I’ve done for you? After everything I’ve fucking done, this is how,” a thump as Jarvis drags his father up “after everything, this is how you repay me, all I’m asking for is one night, just one—”

They’re coming this way. Tony can see their shadows lengthening, can hear their footsteps clearly, and oh boy, his Dad is gonna kill him because he’s drunk and he gets so angry when he’s drunk.

He wishes Jarvis gave him what he wanted. Then he wouldn’t be mad.

But they turn the corridor, and Dad’s arm is slung over Jarvis’ shoulder, and his eyes are closed, but Jarvis sees him, and his eyes widen and he stops, and he opens his mouth, he’s going to call Tony’s name and then Dad will see him so he runs, back, back to his room where Dad won’t get him and pulls the covers tight over his head.

Maybe he’s dreaming. Maybe this is part of the dream.

He hears footsteps past his door and he keeps himself frozen under the covers.

Please, he thinks please don’t come in.

The footsteps move away, but Tony doesn’t relax. They might come back.

He doesn’t know how long he stays like that, quilt over his head and shaking, but when he finally falls asleep he can hear the birds outside.


	8. Chapter 8

The house is quiet after that.

In the days that follow, Tony doesn’t see his Mom, or his Dad. Jarvis wakes him up as usual, and they act like it never happened.

Tony wonders if it really was a dream.

Except when, three days after, Tony is in the kitchen eating dinner. And Jarvis sits opposite him.

“Tony,” he says, and he runs a hand through his hair, clears his throat “I know, I realise you might have seen something on the party night. First of all, I need to make sure: have you told anyone?”

Jarvis’ voice is low, and he never sounds like this, ever, so Tony shakes his head hastily.

“You can never, _ever,_ tell anyone what you saw. Understand? No one. Not a friend, not your Mom, no one, okay?”

Tony nods. He gets it, actually. He understands that what he saw wasn’t normal. That it was bad.

Jarvis softens, slightly. “Tony,” he says “do you… do you know what happened? I mean, do you understand it?”

Tony thinks. He understands that Dad wanted to… _kiss_ Jarvis, and that you’re not supposed to do that if you’re married. Joey from school said that his Dad kissed another woman and that’s why he doesn’t live at home anymore. Tony gets that it’s wrong.

“Tony, you know how your Mom and Dad are married,” Jarvis starts, carefully “and how… how one is a man. And the other is a woman?”

Tony nods.

“Well, sometimes.” Jarvis shakes his head. “Never mind. You’re too young.”

Tony frowns. Jarvis was gonna tell him something and then he changed his mind. Tony _hates_ when adults do that.

“N-no!” He cries “T-t-tell m-me?”

Jarvis rubs his eyes with his fingers. Ruffles his hair. And then looks left, and right, and comes and sits in front of Tony.

“Look, little man, I’m going to tell you this because I know you’re a clever kid, right?” And Tony nods proudly, because yeah, he really is.

“So you can understand that you shouldn’t repeat this to _anyone,_ okay? It’s like… it’s like a secret, right?”

Tony nods, feet swinging where they don’t reach the ground. He like secrets, they’re interesting, and what Jarvis is gonna say sound _important._ It means he must like him a lot because he’s gonna tell him.

“Tony, you have a Mommy and Daddy, right? And they…” he clears his throat “they love each other very much, don’t they?”

Tony wrinkles his nose. He’s not stupid.

“Sometimes, Tony, there are people…” Jarvis frowns, sighs. “I’m sorry, I don’t know how to put this.”

Tony cocks his head. What has this got to do with Dad kissing Jarvis?

“D-did he h-have a n-n-nightmare?” Tony manages “Is that why he w-wanted to sleep with you?”

Jarvis blushes really really red, and he covers his head with his hand. “Oh, Tony,” he says “I still can’t believe you had to see that.”

“B-b-but is that why?” He persists.

Jarvis pauses. “A little bit, Tony. A little bit, yes. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Tony rolls his eyes. Adults always say that, “ _you’ll understand when you’re older,”_ and Jarvis _always_ says it when he’s talking about Dad.

“B-because he said that he wasn’t h-happy? I thought, I’m not happy when I have a n-n-nightmare.”

“Oh God,” Jarvis says softly. “Yeah, Tony,” he says, and he swallows, shaking his head “Yes, it was a little bit like that.”

He stands pours Tony some milk and gets some cookies. “Here,” he says, and Tony grins because he’s just had dinner and normally Jarvis would make him wait but he’s getting to eat cookies _right now_ and that’s so cool.

“Tony,” Jarvis starts again “a man and a woman can love each other very much, yes?”

“Mmm Hmm,” Tony says, chewing on a cookie.

“But sometimes, a man can love another man very much, too. Or sometimes, even a woman can love _another_ woman very much.”

Tony blinks. “Oh,” he says “yeah, I k-know that. Like, like I l-love you lots and I’m a boy.”

Jarvis smiles but he shakes his head. “No, Tony. Not like that, that’s… platonic? Christ, okay, uh,” Jarvis shakes his head “you love your Mom and you love your Dad and you love… me. But you know how your Mom and Dad are together? Like husband and wife? Well, sometimes a man wants to be married to another man, like that. Or a woman.”

Tony frowns. “Then how comes…” he swallows his cookie. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Jarvis says, blinking “Are you, does that make sense?”

Tony nods. “Yeah. I j-just wondered why I d-d-don’t see them. Like, why there aren’t m-men marrying m-m-men and s-s-stuff.”

“People don’t like it, Tony. People don’t like it when women marry other women or men marry other men. It’s _illegal.”_

Tony drops his cookie. “Illegal?” He cries “B-b-but what about, you, and D-dad, is, is he g-g-g-gonna g-g-go to p-prison?” And he pushes back against the chair, spilling his milk.

“Tony!” Jarvis soothes “Tony, no, no. You don’t, your father will never go to prison for that, don’t worry. Especially if you don’t _tell anyone. Ever.”_

Tony nods and Jarvis wipes up the split milk.

“So,” Tony says, calming down. “So are, d-does my D-dad like, d-d-does he like other men and n-not m-m-my Mom?” He says, quietly.

Tony gets that his Mom and Dad don’t like each other very much. It’s okay. He has Jarvis. He just wishes his Dad would play with him more.

“Your Dad…” And Jarvis’ mouth twists, gets all pinched like Mom’s does when she’s angry “I don’t understand your Dad very much Tony.”

“B-but he’s your b-best friend?” Tony says, questioningly.

Jarvis laughs. “That doesn’t mean I understand him, Tony. You’ll—”

“—Understand when I’m older.” Tony giggles.

Jarvis smiles. “That’s right.”

They sit in companionable silence.

“Jarvis,” Tony asks, voice quiet “Jarvis, d-do _you_ like boys more than girls?”

“Yes, Tony.” Jarvis says, softly. “I do.”

“Oh,” says Tony. “Is that why Dad kissed you? B-b-because you—”

“Because he knows I… your father is a very good friend to me, Tony.”

But it doesn’t make sense. If Dad likes boys, why did he marry Mom?

Jarvis’ face grows pained. “Because… because there are some things you can’t do if, if you like men. You can’t have children. And your Dad wanted you very much, Tony.”

Tony doesn’t think so. If his Dad wanted him he would play with him, and he doesn’t.

“Is it unfair for M-mom because D-d-dad doesn’t love her?”

“Howard is confused. He’s confused, Tony. He doesn’t know what he wants, and he won’t—” Jarvis looks away “He doesn’t like people like me, really. He doesn’t like men that like other men.”

Tony frowns because that is _really_ confusing. He though his Dad like men so how comes he doesn’t like Jarvis cos’ Jarvis likes men, too, and how can you hate yourself?

It scares Tony, a little bit.

“Your father likes both, Tony. He likes men _and_ women, so it’s not really _unfair._ Your parents… they just…” Jarvis shakes his head “Oh, Tony, I’ve said too much.”

“Can you like both?” Tony says, excitedly “Can you actually?”

“Of course.”

“Woah.”

Jarvis laughs, and he’s smiling, but he seems kinda sad, too.

* * *

 

 

That Sunday, two days before Christmas, Tony goes to church with his mother for the last time.

It’s dark. The days are short, and the New York smog means that the city is wrapped in a cloak.

Even later, when Tony is an adult who no longer attends church, he will remember the scent of incense; the singing. The flickering candles and figurines of Mary and her child tucked into corners of stone amongst wooden pews.

They attend the evening mass as Maria’s stomach is starting to swell. She does not want the hustle of the earlier services and Tony prefers this, anyway.

He almost enjoys it. Pressed against this mother, her scent in his nostrils. The heavy drone of congregation, the warmth. Outside it is cold - snowing - and Tony feels safe, even, tucked against his mother’s side.

His Mom gets communion at the front of the church with everyone else and Tony has to cross his arms in order to be blessed by the priest. Tony hates walking to the front because he always thinks he’s gonna trip, and he’s dreading the day that he has to eat the wafer like everyone else.

After, his mother smiles. She tells him to light a candle for someone he loves.

Tony lights one for Jarvis.

His Mom lights one for the baby.

His mother tells their chauffeur to hold Tony while she goes to confession. Normally it’s only for the early services, but today she has a special appointment.

Later, Tony asks what confession is.

His mother sighs.

“Oh, _bambino,_ you don’t need to worry about that. You’re a child. Only bad people go to confession.”

She had patted him on the head and Tony had frowned. Is his Mom a bad person?

“B-but sometime I d-do b-b-bad stuff,” Tony says “like, I d-don’t eat vegetables?”

His mother had laughed. “That’s kid stuff, _tesoro,_ I mean real bad stuff.”

The had climbed in the car but still Tony had wondered.

“Does that m-mean you’re a b-bad guy?” Tony had asked, because he doesn’t think his Mom is a Bad Guy, and he _hopes_ she’s not.

His mother thinks. “No, Tony,” she says quietly “but all humans are born evil, understand? We’re all born evil, and everybody, even the greatest men and women do bad things.”

Oh.

Tony thinks.

“What about C-c-captain America?” He asks, because his Dad sometimes talks about him, and so does Jarvis, and he’s watched all the films, too, and he even named his shark after him because Dad had said, he had said that Steve Rogers was the bravest, best man he had ever known.

(It’s the only story his Dad ever tells him, really. About how he helped Captain America)

Mom nods. “Even Captain America.” She whispers, and then she looks out the window.

“So, we’re all, like, evil?” Tony had said, kicking his feet against the chair. “I d-don’t think _I’m_ evil.”

His mother’s face had twisted and turned to snarl. “You’re Howard Stark’s son, Tony. You’re my son. You are evil, don’t worry, sweetie. You just don’t know it yet.”

Tony blinked. He felt a bubble form in his throat. His Mom has never, she’s never snapped like _that_ before, it’s scary, normally it’s _Dad,_ and she looks real mad and it’s worse because Tony doesn’t really know what he’s done wrong.

He can’t make the words come out of his mouth.

“S-s-s-sorry,” he stutters “ssssssorry, ssorry.”

She pouts herself a drink from the limousine’s bar and stares out the window, one hand curved protectively over her belly.

“Don’t make me angry, Tony,” she says, not looking at him “don’t upset the baby.”

She drinks it in one.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A+ parenting all around, really.


	9. Christmas 1976

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for miscarriage although non-graphic

That Christmas, Tony’s Dad gets real drunk. He gets real drunk, and he forgets that he’s not supposed to shout because of the baby, and he forgets that’s it’s Christmas all together, and that it’s supposed to be family time, because he starts screaming and Jarvis can’t make him quiet again.

He won’t let Tony leave, and he keeps Mom and Jarvis and Tony in the dining room, and Mom is screaming at the chef to call the cops and Jarvis is trying to stop Dad from shouting, he’s telling him to think of the baby, and Tony is just crying because he _hates_ when his Dad gets like this, he _hates_ it, hates it, hates it.

Dad is saying that the baby isn’t his, that it’s another man’s, and Mom is shouting back, she’s telling him that he’s insane, a liar, a coward, and Dad tells her to shut up, shut her lying, whoring mouth, and Maria screams and throws the ice bucket at his head and

and then she says, quietly, that it’s not his, of course it’s not his, Howard hasn’t been able to get it up in years, how could he have ever even thought that it could be his, and she says she’s glad, because she’s going to have a baby who isn’t tainted, tainted and dirty, and her baby is going to pure and good and they’re going to leave, her and her baby, and then Maria grins, she grins and says that she’ll take Tony with her, and Howard will never see him and he’ll die alone and 

Howard grabs Tony, and he’s dragging him down the corridor and Tony’s crying and he’s tired and he’s confused and words aren’t coming out of his throat and his Howard smells like alcohol and gravy and he keeps smiling at him, he picks him up and his hot breath is in his ear and he’s running down to the garage where he keeps the cars.

Maria is screaming, “he’s taking Tony, he’s taking Anthony,” and Jarvis is running after them, telling Howard to stop, that this is insane, to please, please put Tony down but Howard stuffs Tony in the car because no one is going to get his son, no one is going to get his boy, his, his, his heir, no one.

He straps him in.

Within the chaos, Tony holds onto that. His father straps him in before he starts the car.

Jarvis is standing in front of the car, he’s not letting it leave, he’s banging on the windows, face twisted in fury, and Tony hears Maria screaming and Howard is shouting and Tony is crying and he thinks he might have wet himself and he’s scared that Howard is gonna tell him what a baby he is.

But then Howard reverses instead of accelerating and they smash into the wall at the back of the house and Tony hits his head real bad, it hurts a lot, and he’s still crying and he’s scared he’s gonna die like the painter that did their roof last summer and fell and bumped his head.

He’s wrenched free by Jarvis who shoves him into a chair, and there’s a lot of screaming and _then_ Tony sees the blood, and sees his mom crying and holding her stomach and saying “my baby, my baby, my baby” over and over.

 

 

When Tony wakes up, he’s in bed.

Jarvis tells him he’s bumped his head, but that he’ll be fine in a few days. He just needs to stay in bed.

“Your mom… tripped down the stairs,” he says “chasing your dad. She’s okay. The baby is dead.”

“Okay.” Tony says.

A five says later, Tony goes back to school and spends the New Year with Miss Behan.

Nobody except Jarvis bothers to say goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who aren't familiar with Tiberius Stone, in comics he was Tony's childhood friend/rival who grew close and then fell apart and then shit happened and yeah, like Whitney, I've changed him to suit my own purposes.

Tony writes to his dad a lot.

He doesn’t really reply, which is a shame, but Tony gets that he’s really busy.

He doesn’t write to his mom anymore because she ruined everything. She ruined Christmas, and it was supposed to be the best Christmas ever, and her baby wasn’t even dad’s and she said she was going to leave and Tony thinks that the only reason she said she would take Tony with her is to annoy Dad.

His dad wanted him, though. So he writes to him.

He still wants to leave. He still hates it here.

 

 

Nick keeps telling him how cool his Christmas was and Tony keeps telling him to shut up.

He doesn’t _care._ His Christmas wasn’t even fun and his parents didn’t get him any presents anyway.

He meets up with Whitney the first weekend back and they spend the whole day in the library. Tony tells her _everything,_ except about Dad liking, you know. Whitney nods and says that she gets it because she kinda remembers when she was younger, last year, before she was adopted. She said her dad always had men round and they were always shouting, too.

She says her Christmas was okay. She says that Santa brought her lots of books. Tony frowns.

“What?” He asks.

“Santa brought me lots of books.” She repeats.

“What’s a Santa?”

Whitney blinks. “He’s the guy in the big red suit? Every Christmas he flies around and he gives kids their presents. But only if they’ve been good.”

Tony has seen it. He’s seen the pictures of the man in the big red suit with the bed white beard but he’s never heard him called _Santa_ before.

“Do you,” Tony ducks his head, swallows “is it maybe because, if you’re not a good kid he won’t bring you anything?”

Has Tony been bad? He saw his Dad kiss Jarvis, that was bad. And he wets the bed still. _And_ he stammers.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t get presents?

“No,” Whitney says, frowning “that can’t be right, silly. You’re really nice, you read to me. Maybe… do you have a fireplace?”

Tony nods, because they have loads.

“Well, if you have a fire in your fireplace then he can’t come down because he’ll get burnt!” She announces proudly.

But Tony shakes his head morosely. “We don’t light _all_ of them.”

Whitney’s brow furrows. “Oh!” She says suddenly “But do you leave out milk? Or cookies? Or a carrot for Rudolf?”

Tony blinks. “The red nose reindeer?”

“Yeah!” She says, happily “Because if you don’t, he won’t come.”

“Oh,” Tony says “that must be it.”

Later, he writes to Jarvis and asks why Santa never came and Jarvis says it’s because he forgot to buy extra presents to put under the tree.

 

 

 

One night, Tony wakes up and he’s wet the bed.

He panics, because he’s not supposed to do that anymore, not at all, and he hasn’t really, he’s just been having nightmares which are awful but also better.

He knows what to do if he wets the bed because Miss Behan told him on his first day. His room is tucked right next to the laundry closet, so it’s perfect, and there aren’t any other rooms nearby anyway so it’s easy to slide out the door and get what he needs.

Except there’s already another boy there.

Tony freezes. He moves backwards, tries to head back to his room and hide until the boy leaves but he’sseen him and now it’s too late.

He’s tall, kinda, and his face is really long. Everything about him seems stretched, like he’s been ironed out, but when he moves closer Tony sees that he’s not even that much taller than him.

He’s got blond hair, really really blond hair, and blue eyes and he’s blinking at Tony and holding towels.

“Uh,” he says, and Tony blushes.

“Do you, uh,” he says again, and Tony can’t talk because he’s wet the bed and this boy is gonna find out and he’s gonna tell everyone and everyone is gonna hate Tony more than they do now.

“Did you wet the bed?” The boy says “Because, uh, I did too?”

Tony blinks. “Oh.” He says.

“Yeah.” Blondie says and they fall into silence.

Tony should say something. It’s his turn to talk.

“I’m T-t-t-tony.” He stutters, and then blushes, because he’s sounds so _stupid._

“I’m Ty,” the boy says “are you the guy that can’t talk properly?”

Tony wants to cry.

“I wasn’t here at the start because I was in California,” Ty says, proudly “but then my parents sent me here.”

Tony nods.

Ty frowns. “Are you… are you gonna get your sheets?”

Tony mumbles something and moves closer, except he’s never done this before and he doesn’t know what to do.

“Here,” Ty says “take mine. I know where to get them.”

“Th-thanks.”

Ty nods, seriously. “You’re welcome.”

Tony thinks he should leave, now. Except Ty pokes his arm.

“You’re not gonna tell anyone, are you?” Ty says “That I wet the bed? Because I gave you sheets, so now you owe me.”

“N-n-no,” Tony says “I wouldn’t, I w-wouldn’t d-d-do that.”

Ty smiles. “Cool.” He says “Can we hang out tomorrow?”

Tony blinks. Does Ty want to… does he want to be _his_ friend?

Oh wow.

“S-sure,” Tony stumbles quickly “in the library w-with, w-w-with Whitney.”

“Who’s that?”

“A friend.”

“Cool.” Ty grins again.

Tony leaves, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

The next day, Ty _does_ meet him and Whitney in the library.

Whitney doesn’t like him that much, but then he tells her he knows how to sneak into Tony’s room without being caught, and she decides, very magnanimously, that he can join Tony And Whitney’s Group. 

He likes Ty. He’s funny, and brave. He doesn’t care that he’s new and people like him a lot.

 

 

One day, Tony is in their spot in the library when Nick finds him.

And he’s angry.

“I’ve been _looking_ for you,” he says, fuming “where have you been? Why don’t you play with me anymore?”

Tony swallows. “I,” he says “I’m b-busy, I don’t—”

Nick scowls. “You’re _lying,_ I’ve _seen_ you, you’re with the stupid girl and the new boy, Ty.” And he kicks his foot into the carpet, knocking down Whitney’s book tower. “Why won’t you spend time with me?” He whines.

Tony hates Nick. He ruins everything. He’s the reason the other kids laugh at him.

“She’s n-n-not stupid,” Tony protests “she’s n-n- _nice._ You’re stupid.”

Nick howls and stomps his foot. Tony _hates_ when Nick does this, it’s so babyish. He seriously needs to grow up, he’s nearly seven.

“ _You’re stupid!”_ Nick says “You are! You can’t even speak properly,” and he sticks his tongue out and stutters “bluh bluh bluh, you just make stupid noises you can’t even _talk—”_

Tony feels his stomach fall out. He doesn’t like it when people talk about that, he doesn’t like people bringing it up, he knows he’s a baby, he knows it, he just wishes people wouldn’t talk about it.

“Th-th—” He can’t finish because Nick’s right, he just makes stupid noises, and it’s not his fault, he tries to stop it, it’s _not_ his fault, he’s not stupid, he’s in all the advanced classes and he made a _circuit board,_ Jarvis said that most adults can’t even do that and he bets Nick can’t either.

Whitney arrives then, and she actually _kicks_ Nick, even though it’s not very hard, and Ty laughs, and Nick makes a really big deal out of it.

Whitney plonks herself down and so does Ty and they look at the different books even though Tony’s trying not to cry. Whitney hands him one.

“Read to me.” She says, simply.

 

 

Later that night, Nick apologises but Tony doesn’t care. Nick’s stupid, and he doesn’t want to be his friend anymore, and he tells him to leave him alone.

Nick says he doesn’t have any other friends and Tony says he doesn’t care.

 

 

 

The semester moves on.

Tony is doing _really_ well in class. He’s one of the best there and Mr Lambert says he really is clever. Tony sends all his report cards home to his Dad to show him that he’s not a baby anymore but he never responds.

He continues to write letters every week even though Jarvis is the only one who writes back.

He says his Dad is fine and Mom is fine and that he shouldn’t worry.

Tony spends all his time with Ty and Whit but it’s okay, because they’re all best friends now. Everyone loves Ty, and Ty tells them that Tony’s really funny. Sometimes, Tony will show everyone how to make paper airplanes that actually fly and how to make catapults.

Nobody really teases him anymore so it’s cool.

One day, he’s called out of class. Miss Behan says that there’s a man here to see him, to talk to him a bit and give him some tests. Tony says okay because he’s good at tests.

Except they’re not _really_ tests. The man asks Tony lots of questions about how he’s _feeling,_ and if he has any friends, and if he likes it here. Tony shrugs and says sure, because it’s not even that bad now that he Ty and Whit.

He says that Jarvis organised for him to talk to Tony because he sometimes talks funny. He says that he’s a doctor.

He asks him questions, he gives him scenarios and asks him how he would react. And the doctor frowns.

(Later, Tony would learn he put him down as displaying sociopathic tendencies. Tony had laughed.)

Tony learns about the Romans in class and he learns about Julius Caesar and Cleopatra _and_ about how Marc Antony (which is cool, because that’s basically his name) beat him, and then how Marc Antony and Cleopatra were defeated by Caesar Augustus.

The history teacher also talks about the first Tiberius, Caesar’s son, and Tony thinks that’s really cool because that’s Tiberius’ name and they’re both kinda named after Roman guys. The teacher says that Tiberius was really weird and mean, though, and that he locked his wife in a room and starved her to death.

Tony had laughed when he talked about this with Ty ‘cause he kinda thinks his Dad wants to do the same with Mom.

Tony, Ty and Whit start playing Romans, and it’s so cool, sometimes Whit will pretend to be Cleopatra and she’ll kill herself dramatically with a snake and Tony is _always_ Marc Antony. Ty will be Julius Caesar, sometimes, but then after Cleopatra dies he’ll play Augustus Caesar.

Either way, he always plays a king.

 

 

 

Tony has nightmares.

Sometimes he dreams about being forgotten. About his Dad forgetting he exists and just leaving him here to rot.

Sometimes he dreams he’s on a stage, and he’s trying to talk, but the works are stuttered and broken and crumble from his mouth while everyone laughs and points.

Sometimes, he dreams of blood. The smell of exhaust fumes. Screaming, and his mother saying ‘my baby, my baby, my baby’ over and over.

 

Those dreams are the worst.

 

 

 

Nick tells Miss Behan.

He tells Miss Behan that Tony cries in his sleep.

Tony gets so mad that he throws his food at Nick’s face, and Ty tells everyone that Nick is a big liar and that he’s just jealous because Tony is cooler than him now.

He’s made to go talk to that doctor again, and this time he holds up shapes and asks him what he sees, and Tony rolls his eyes because this is just _stupid,_ it’s all stupid, and Tony wants this guy to go away because he’s not helping _at all._

He asks Miss Behan if he can move rooms, if he can share with Ty because they’re best friends now and Nick’s an idiot, but she says that he can’t, Ty already has a roommate and besides, Nick doesn’t have any friends and he and Tony got on so well at the beginning.

Tony just ignores him for the rest of the semester because he’s still so mad.

Nick keeps trying to be friends again. He brings him sweets, he gives him the stuff his mom sends at the weekends. This doesn’t help. Tony doesn’t really want to be reminded that his Mom doesn’t like him.

 

 

 

Tony’s not invited home for Spring Break. Or, rather, he is, but Jarvis says that he doesn’t want Tony home right now. He says his Mom is sick again.

When Ty finds out, he decides that he’s going to stay in solidarity.

Tony’s never had someone that’s done something like _that_ for him before.

Ty moves into his room over break because it’s all on it’s own and it’s more private. The fire escape is just outside their window, and it’s tucked between two walls outside if you climb out. Standing there, you can see the lake, and the mountains in the distance.

You can also get to the fire escape from the door next to Tony’s, but they prefer to climb through the window, because technically it’s not allowed. But still, it’s cool, and Ty shows Tony how Whit could climb up the stairs if she followed the lake track to his room and no one would ever even see her.

Tony and Ty stay up late every night with their torches. They read Ty’s comics and some of the books they steal from the library.

Tony forgets about going home.

 

 

That summer, Tony, Ty and Whit play in the lake.

It’s a summer measured with strawberries and ice cream, fingers sticky with juice and sweet tangerines exploding over their tongues.

A few weeks later, Jarvis calls him home, and they spend the weeks baking in the shady kitchen, swimming, and eating ice cream.

His Dad isn’t home, hasn’t been home for a while. He’s on some expedition, trying to find Captain America’s old ship, which is kinda cool. 

Tony is glad he isn’t home. He can relax.

Ty writes a lot. He writes about California, and how hot it is, and he writes about how his parents really want to meet him. He writes, in big childish scrawl, that when he’s older he has to come and stay with them for the summer. He says that their house is private, and right by the ocean. He says that there are always movie stars round, and he swears that his Dad knows the Jackson 5.

Tony tells Jarvis about Whitney and he promises to call her butler and organise a play day. Whitney’s dad, or at least her adopted father, is a big banker in the city, and Jarvis says that Tony’s dad knows him too. He says that they used to play golf together.

So Tony gets to spend time with Whitney, too. They play Romans, a bit, even though it’s boring without Ty. Tony’s mom actually comes out of her room to see them, and she smiles.

She promises to take them out for ice cream and then goes back to bed.

_ It’s the summer that Tony starts to think that family isn’t necessarily the people who share your blood. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is the end of part one. In the next chapter we'll be jumping a few years. I'll most likely be ending part two with Tony going to college so I'm not sure how long it will be? An honest question: there's a lot I want to fit in. Like, a lot. I've already said that this story is going to, quite literally, be long as balls, but how much would you guys be willing to read? Like, I don't want it to drag on either, but I have a lot of ideas for Tony's formative years and just ugh HEADCANONS


	11. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Start of part two which will basically encapsulate Tony's last year of school because I've decided it's just too vital to leave out. College starts in part three BUT I'll be skipping the first few years as nothing much happens?
> 
> Quicker update today because I had the whole day to actually write.
> 
> Also, I have no idea how the American school system actually works, so sorry for the inevitable inaccuracies.
> 
> WARNING: mention of mental illness, specifically bulimia and alcoholism. Also undertones of anxiety. Please be careful if talking about   
> bulimia and having stupid dick head assholes making jokes and comments about it is triggering,

“15 love,” Whitney calls out, the green ball bouncing on the heat-cracked ground of the tennis court.

Tony grins, throws his racket from hand to hand and bounces on his toes. Sports aren’t exactly his forte, but apparently he’s got a thing for tennis.

It’s hot. California in the summer, would you believe, is baking.

Tony loves it.

Ty’s parents house is one of those prime real estate beach front things sitting on the edge of the LA coastline. Tony’s spent most of his summers here since he was nine years old which is considerably better than spending them with Nick Boyle and an ageing Miss Behan.

There’s a sharp thunk where Tony’s racket meets with the ball and it smacks into the tarmac. Ty parries, body lurching as he swings and bounces the ball onto Tony’s side of the court. The sun is beating down overhead and Tony is soaked through with sweat, gangly limbs moving wildly to keep in time with the ball.

Ty’s face is red, his skin is too pale and the sun is not his friend. Not like Tony, whose tanned skin turns a darkened bronze when subjected to light for too long. Whitney sits in her chair by the net, sunglasses on, wearing her white skirt and sandals over her flowered swimsuit.

It’s nice. Tony likes this. The year is 1984 and Tony is on track to becoming a man.

Or not. At fourteen, he sits on an uncomfortable precipice, his body never quite able to keep up with the jumps his mind has made. His hair, forever unruly, sticks to his forehead. He’s short, and too skinny, almost wiry. Whitney insists that it doesn’t matter because lots of girls like personality more than looks anyway, but Tony’s not buying it.

Ty says it doesn’t matter because Tony is rich and smart. He says he could look like a slapped ass and girls would still be begging to marry him.

Ty can say shit like that because Ty hasn’t had an awkward puberty stage. Ty has never had an awkward anything. Ty is slipping seamlessly from the cuteness of childhood into what will be, as Tony can _objectively see,_ an incredibly handsome man. He’s tall, he’s always been too tall, and it looks like he’s going to even out at something like six feet, which grates on Tony’s nerves immensely because at fourteen he feels like he’s already _stopped_ growing. Ty’s hair is never greasy, his face never oily. His voice doesn’t crack when he shouts, or when he speaks too quickly. He’s not fat, he’s not skinny, and already he has the starts of muscles budding on his torso, his arms.

It’s not actually fair.

Whitney fared slightly worse. She’s cool now, because she’s lost all the weight, but when she was twelve she was massive, like a balloon. She had been really ugly and she’s lucky that she’s actually pretty underneath it all because now she looks great, especially in that swimsuit. She throws up after all her meals and it works.

“30 love,” Whitney grins, mouth working furiously over her mint gum “put your back into it, Ty.”

“Shut up.” He grits, spinning to catch the ball which hits low over the net, bounces once, and then twice.

“Ooh,” Whitney winces “Anty’s on fire, Ty, you’re gonna have to work a little harder.”

Tony sways from side to side as Ty grunts. It’s nice to win, once in a while. They rally back and forth, Ty working furiously to hit back but Tony matching him for every blow. He’s not thinking, Ty’s just not thinking about it. He’s getting all worked up and blowing each shot.

Tony’s realised by now that people don’t necessarily think the same way he does. So methodically. Rationally. He’s realising that not everyone sees the world through the same lens as him.

“C’mon, Anty,” Whit calls “win this one.”

“What about me?” Ty shouts back, panting “Don’t I get a cheerleader?”

“No.” Whitney says shortly, and Tony smashes the ball right over the net.

“ _Bullshit.”_ Ty spits, throwing his racket to the ground “Bullshit, I want a rematch.”

“No can do,” Tony sings, floating over the weight of his victory “you’re just gonna have to come second this time.”

Ty aims a fist for Tony’s arm and Tony ducks, grinning. “You’re a lousy shot, Ty.”

“blah blah myeh myeh myeh,” Ty mimics, but he’s grinning. “Fine, fine okay,” he points a finger at Tony “but I let you win that one, so.”

Tony laughs. “Of course you did, Caesar, I believe you don’t worry.”

Whitney rolls her eyes. Sometimes, Tony feels like maybe they do this on purpose, they fight on purpose. They only ever do it when Whitney’s around, taking jabs at one another. It makes Tony feel like he’s riding up on a cloud when Whitney shakes her head, makes a comment about _boys,_ as if he and Ty are part of some secret, masculine club to which she is not a part. As if she’s something different, wild and exotic.

She’s not, obviously. She’s just Whitney.

Not that Tony is, you know, oblivious to her. To what she looks like. He can see that. He’s not blind. She’s pretty, so what. Ty’s handsome, too. It’s just, it’s nothing. Absolutely nothing. Tony’s allowed to be attracted to girls, it’s not big deal.

He wonders if—

Tony hasn’t seen his dad in a while. He hasn’t seen his mom, either. He thinks the last time he spoke to either of them was Christmas, although he can’t be sure. It’s the only holiday he really bothers to go home for, now, and even then it’s only for Jarvis.

He spent Spring Break at school with Joey. They’re both in advanced placement and Tony’s set to be applying for _college_ this year with the SAT he’ll take in December. Ty and Whit will be starting high school this year, which is kinda messed up because Tony’s already nearly finished.

After nine years, he’ll finally be leaving.

Ty’s dad took him down to look at Caltech the other day to check it out and ‘get a feel’ for the campus, which was crazy, because Tony won’t even be fifteen till May and he’s already looking at college.

Tony doesn’t really know what he wants to do. Or, _he_ does. Secretly, he still wants to be an astronaut, but he’s not stupid, that’s not going to work. Whatever happens, he’s going to end up at Stark Industries.

Jarvis called last week saying that his parents want to come home early this year. That they want to _talk_ to him.

Tony’s trying not to think about it.

He needs to get a high score if he wants to have a shot at applying for the best colleges. All Ivy league, obviously. Whitney loves collecting all the different brochures and reading over them, Tony’s starting to think she’s more excited for college than he is.

Problem is, Tony’s not that great at writing. He’s good, he’s just not… great. And really, it would be better to get a high score on all of them. Tony can write just fine when he wants to, but not under pressure. Not like Whit can, or even Ty. When Whit writes, the words just flow off the page and everything clicks into place. 

Maybe it’s because Tony’s mind just works a bit funny, but when he reads Whit’s essays he has this sense that all the words are _balanced._ All the sentences are even, they’re long when they need to be and short for the right effect. Tony’s work is stumpy and convoluted in comparison.

Tony thinks that maybe he should wait until next year to apply because at least that way he’ll be a bit a better but he’s not so sure that’ll fly with his dad. He’s pretty keen for him to go this year.

Tony’s not stupid, he knows it’s like a status thing or whatever. He knows his dad just wants the bragging rights, which is funny when you consider that this is the first time he’s taken an interest in Tony since, like, ever.

“Tony!” Ty calls, slinging a towel round his neck “We’re going to the pool, you coming?”

Tony hates swimming. But at least Whitney will wear her bathing suit.

 

 

 

 

That evening, Tony sits out on his balcony by the ocean.

He’s drinking. Tony’s been steady drinking for a while, since he was twelve at least. It’s not a big deal, it’s just something to calm him down when he gets stressed, a glass a night, sometimes more. 

Tony worries a lot. He doesn’t know why, exactly. Sometimes, he just likes to be alone with his thoughts, and drinking helps… ease the moments when he’s not.

He can stop at any time.

Tony remembers when he was a kid. When he stumbled over everything he said, when he hid, when he was terrified of what other people thought of him.

He never really changed, he thinks. He’s just got good at hiding it.

Once, when Tony was home for the summer, he had stolen his dad’s alcohol. He had been too young and too small to really know what he was doing and had drunk a fair amount of vodka, only to go crying to Jarvis when he threw up and it burned his throat.

Jarvis had been… Tony has never seen him so mad.

Now, he takes a sip and kicks his feet up on the balcony rail. Ty’s parents don’t mind drinking as long as he doesn’t go overboard, which is fine, _because he doesn’t._ He’s not like his dad. Or his mom, for that matter.

Below, he hears Ty feet crunching on gravel as he talks in low tones with his father. Tony thinks his dad is showing him the car he bought him even though Ty can’t drive. Tony doesn’t know the reason, exactly, he just knows, or at least, can tell that Mr Stone is trying too hard to get Ty on his side.

Ty hates his parents. Out of all the things Tony doesn’t understand about his best friend, that will always be number one. Because, sure, they’re busy people, but fuck if they love their son. Ty’s dad is always desperate to get his son on his level, to try and connect with him somehow, and it makes Tony angry, just a little, because the last time Tony spent any time with his dad at all was the corporate fishing trip back in ’79 with his cousin Morgan who threw him in the lake and then his dad was so drunk he didn’t realise when Tony didn’t come home and had to traipse back sopping wet.

So yeah. It would be nice if his dad bought him a car. Or even a bag of chips.

The sun is setting over the ocean. Tony likes it here, he likes the heat, he likes the smell of the sea. The wide, open space is so much more comfortable to him than the oak and velvet trappings of the mansion back on 5th or his school. He likes everything ergonomic, open, functional. Which probably says a lot about his personality.

“Tony?” Whitney says, and Tony spins, because she must be standing in his room. “Uh,” he blinks “hi.”

She smiles, softly. Tony likes Whit, he really does. They’ve been friends since… they are friends. Tony doesn’t forget that she was his friend before is got cool to be.

“Are you busy?” She says, and her smile is playing thin on her face, her eyes strained, which is weird because Whit really isn’t the kind of person to be so tense.

Tony frowns. “Gigi?” He asks, and he hasn’t called her that in years because that’s not her name anymore, she is Whitney Frost, daughter of Byron Frost, stockbroker, future socialite, Tony knows all of this, so why he uses it now he doesn’t know.

She sighs, smiling carefully. “Can I sit?” She asks.

“Uh, sure,” Tony blinks, scrambles and tries to pull out a chair rapidly, nearly spilling his beer in his haste. She laughs, and it’s not cruel, really, just another familiar thing that they share.

“Can I have some?” She says, sitting, and Tony just holds the bottle out. 

She drinks.

Their hands brush when she hands it back, and Tony downs the rest, hastily. Cracks open another from the pack by his side because he thinks he’ll need it.

“You know beer makes you fat, right?” Whitney says abruptly.

“Oh you’re right, because I’m unhealthily overweight.” Tony rolls his eyes.

“It’s not good for you.”

“Neither is throwing up after every meal.”

Her eyes harden. “What would you know.”

Tony shrugs. She’s right, what would he know about something like that?

“So my dad called me,” she continues, looking away.

“And?” Tony says, carelessly, slumping in his chair.

“I don’t mean Byron.”

Tony jerks. “What?”

“I don’t know, Anty, I don’t—” she shakes her head “He says the school said I was here, he says that he wants to get in touch? I don’t know why he—”

“You don’t know why he would do that.” Tony repeats slowly. “Whit, that’s… that’s fucked up. Seriously, you should, just, like, not talk to him. Ever.”

Whit shakes her head. “He’s my dad.”

“No,” Tony says, forcefully “he’s not.”

“He said that he wants to explain stuff. He wants to explain what happened.”

“Why does it matter?” Tony spits, brusquely. “Why do you care? He’s not your dad.”

“Except that he is.”

“Why the fuck does that matter?” And Tony drinks deeply. “He’s not, you know, your real dad. Just ‘cause you’re related doesn’t mean shit.”

Whitney’s eyes narrow. “That’s it? That’s your only advice?”

Tony blinks. “Oh I’m sorry,” he says “what did you want me to say?”

She shakes her head. “You can be such an asshole, Tony Stark.”

Tony’s face scrunches. “What did I say?”

She glares, and then just stands. “You’re an idiot.”

Tony blinks. “What?”

Whitney slams his bedroom door behind him.

Tony blinks. What did he do? Girls are weird.

 

 

 

 

“And then she slammed the door!”

Ty raises an eyebrow. “She _slammed the door?”_

“Yeah!” Tony exclaims, and his voice cracks irritatingly on the high note.

“Man, girls are weird.”

“I know, right?”

 

 

 

 

Two days later and Tony watches as Ty swims lengths in the pool.

It’s like watching goldfish swim around a bowl and it takes his mind off both Whitney and his impending meeting with his parents.

When Ty gets out, he’s dripping wet. His sunburn has finally faded to a healthy, glowing tan. His hair is slicked back on his head. His eyes pierce. 

Tony catches the way his muscles tense as he lifts himself out of the pool.

“You okay?” Ty says, looking at him with concern.

Tony blinks. “Uh,” he says.

When he gets upstairs, he beats one out in the shower. He forces Whitney into his mind, Whitney in a bathing suit, Whitney in underwear, Whitney in bed, and it works, it feels good, but then he imagines Ty and the heat in his gut pools faster because Ty with his muscles and Ty with water dripping from his hair—

Whitney. Woman. Anything but—

Oh Christ, Ty is back.

Tony turns the water to freezing, scrapes at his eyes. He’s not, he can’t be.

It’s Ty? It’s just Ty, surely, maybe, maybe this is normal? 

_Or not,_ the voice in the back of his head whispers, and Tony remembers a dark corridor, and he remembers his fathers panting breath and Jarvis’ pleas and he remembers the feeling of wrongness that he had felt.

And he thinks of the _rightness_ of what he just did.

 

Oh shit.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.
> 
> I'm going on holiday next week. I'm not sure if there's wifi. It'll be two weeks. I really wish AO3 had, like, a queuing function that would automatically post chapters?? Like a tumblr queue?? Anyway, so. I'll try and get as much done as possible and maybe finish liquid lunch.
> 
> I would love you opinions on this chapter because it's the first where Tony is kinda, idk, actually thinking? It took me loads of redrafts to finally find a starting point I was happy with.


	12. Chapter 12

Mr Stone takes Tony to the airport.

Waiting for him is the Stark’s private jet. To him, to his family, travelling across the country is nothing. At this rate, he’ll be home in time for dinner.

Mr Stone draws him in for a hug, shakes his hand, claps him on the shoulder. He asks if they can expect him for Christmas, and Tony says he’ll probably spend it with his family, but thanks for the offer. Mr Stone shrugs, but tells him that he knows he’s always welcome, and Tony boards the plane back to New York.

He’s terrified.

Which is stupid. Who gets nervous about meeting their parents? But this is the first time they’ve ever _asked_ to see him, and he’s gonna have to sit with them and talk to them and ugh, it’s just nothing he wants. Tony is hoping, fingers crossed, to study Engineering, but he’s not sure what his dad wants. He heard that maybe his dad wanted him at Harvard or Stanford taking _business,_ because he’s worried there isn’t going to be strong figurehead to take over, or at least, that’s what the rumour mill is saying. He’s hoping it’s not true.

Not that any of that matters till he takes his SAT. He’s got a good grade-point average and his math is more than above standard. Ty says that Tony’s like some kind of super computer thing because he can just calculate math in his head like it’s nothing. But what if that’s not enough? he knows he’s _good,_ but it only takes one mark to bring him all the way down. And his writing needs work, too. A _lot,_ if it’s going to be up to scratch.

He bites his thumb, and then mentally checks himself. He waits till the cabin crew leave and helps himself to the scotch from the bar.

 

 

 

The Stark mansion hasn’t changed.

It doesn’t, really. Still the same iron gates, still the same pebbled drive, the same sloping green lawns and fountain in the centre of the drive way.

Still the same Howard, Maria, and Jarvis, sans Tony, who was never really apart of it anyway.

He enters the cavernous hall at the front of the house, the wide staircase looming in front of him. He dumps his bag.

“Hello?”

Somewhere, Tony hears a clock tick.

Brilliant. Tony hasn’t seen his parents seven months.

He sighs and moves to explore the open doors leading off into different rooms. He checks the lounge, but it’s empty.

He moves to the fireplace. There’s a portrait, there. It’s of him, his mother and father. Tony can vaguely remember it being painted. His father’s face, younger, stronger. His mother more beautiful. Him, still kinda small.

“Hello?”

Tony jumps. There’s a woman standing in the doorway, hair greying slightly at the roots. She’s wearing a dressing gown.

“Hey mom.” He croaks.

She blinks. “Anthony,” she says, blearily, mouth curling in an empty smile “oh, I didn’t know you were coming.”

Tony nods politely. “I’m going back to school next week.” _I’ll be out from under your feet._

“Oh, no,” she says, forcing sympathy “stay, I insist.”

“Mom,” Tony says softly “it’s school. You can’t miss it.”

“Hmm?” Maria blinks. “School? Is that it?”

“Yes mom.” He whispers.

“Good, good,” She says, trying to sound brisk. “Have you seen your father?”

“No. I haven’t seen anyone.”

She nods again. “That’s nice, sweetie. I’ll just… okay.” She mumbles, shuffling forwards.

“Are you… how are you feeling, mom. Any better?”

She hums, eyes vacant. “Oh, you know me,” she says, despite the fact Tony doesn’t. “Busy busy. We’ve got benefits, you know, for the foundation. You should come.”

Tony knows. His mother loves the foundation more than she loves him.

“School, mom.”

“Oh yes,” she laughs “silly me. Always forgetting.”

Tony nods. “How’s your stomach?”

She blinks. “It’s okay.”

“Have the doctors said what’s wrong?”

She shakes her head. “They don’t know yet.”

“Okay,” he says. 

There is silence.

“Do you want me to help you to back to bed?”

Maria smiles. “Oh, Tony,” she says “such a gentleman. Just like my brother. How old are you now, _tesoro?”_

“Fourteen.”

“So young?” She exclaims as Tony takes her by the elbow “You sound so old, baby.”

He really doesn’t. His mom is still taller than him and his voice has barely broken.

“Where’s Jarvis, mom?” He says, delivering her to the foot of the stairs. 

She blinks. “Kitchen?”

“Good night, mom.”

The light streams in though the window at the top of the stairs. “Good night, _bambino._ ”

 

 

 

Jarvis is getting old.

His hair is starting to thin. It used to be blonde, bright blonde, but the colour has dulled, light grey creeping into the roots.

He’s still tall, still smiling. He still keeps his usual, effaceable manner about him at all times.

Tony has missed him.

“Tony,” he says, drawing him into a hug “let me look at you, little man.”

Tony squirms because little man was cute when he was six, it doesn’t fly as well now that it’s becoming a reality.

“God,” Jarvis says, hands on his shoulders, peering at his face “you’re looking more like your father everyday.”

Tony snort. Sure, J.

“I mean it, Tony. It’s really starting to show.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

Jarvis smiles, but he looks tired. “Have you seen him yet?”

Tony swallows, picks up and orange and throws it into the air. “Nope.”

“He wants to see you. They both want to see you.”

“Yeah, well there’s a first time for everything.”

“You should change. He’s in his office.”

Tony pauses. “Can it wait?”

“Just say hello. You can talk properly later.”

Tony doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to just say hello to his father. He doesn’t want to step into that room and feel his tongue tie up and his palms sweat and his heart beat in his chest like an out of time drum.

“Welcome home, Tony.” Is all Jarvis replies.

 

 

 

 

“Come in.” Says the voice. And it’s weird, because that is his father’s voice. Like, that is the voice of the man who raised him. And yet it’s barely recognisable.

Tony’s heart feels like it’s in his throat. His palms are sweating.

He doesn’t trust his voice. He doesn’t trust the words that’ll come out to make sense.

But his father has aged. 

He’s sitting at his desk, paperwork piled high at the sides, a glass of scotch by his side. He’s puffing away at a cigar.

There’s another man there, too. Tony recognises him, it’s Obadiah Stane, except he’s lost a lot of hair since Tony last saw him at some Christmas party a few years back. They must have been talking, or planning, or whatever it is the head of multi-international conglomerates do.

His father looks up. “Tony,” he says, gesturing at the seat opposite him. “Come here, let me get a look at you — wait, close the door.”

Tony’s stomach summersaults. He eyes the scotch on Howard’s desk.

He stands in front of his oak table, and he is acutely aware of Stane’s eyes on his back, of his father’s steely gaze.

“You're short,” he grunts.

Tony blinks. “Uh.” He doesn’t know what to say. Thank you?

“It’s a shame. Would be better if you were taller. Leading men are tall men.”

_Not true_ Tony wants to say _ever heard of Napoleon?_

There’s a long, drawn out silence. 

It’s so awkward that Tony wants to die.

His father raises an eyebrow. “What?” He grunts.

Tony keeps his breathing even. What should he say? What would his father want to hear?

Howard laughs, coarse. “You want some, boy?” He says, gesturing to the amber liquid on his desk. His eyes are cold, but his mouth cocks in a greedy half-smile. A challenge.

Tony steels himself. “Only if you’re offering, dad.”

Silence.

And then another laugh.

His father stands, claps him on the back, and pours him some amber liquid from the decanter in the corner. Tony feels Stane’s disapproval but is also riding the wave of his father’s _app-_ vovalso he lets it slide and takes the drink carefully.

“How old are you now, Tones?” His father says, lighting another cigar and handing one out for Stane to take.

“Fourteen.” He says, in-between sips.

His father considers. “A young man, now, God where does time go? Pass that here,” he says, gesturing to his check book.

Tony slides it across the table and focuses on the burn of the alcohol and keeping the glass from slipping from his palm. His father flicks open the cover, pops a pen and writes. He rips it deftly from the book and hands it to Tony. 

“Here,” he says “for however many birthdays I missed.”

Tony blinks, because that is… that is a _lot_ of money. Tony could do a lot with this money. He’s fourteen. Literally the only thing that he can imagine spending this on is sweets. Or maybe alcohol if he can find somewhere that’ll sell in town on the weekends.

“Oh, wow,” he says “thank you.”

His father waves a hand. “It’s pocket money, Tony. That’s pocket money to me, understand? When you have my job, it’ll all be pocket money to you, too.”

Ah. Okay.

Tony slips the check into the front pocket of his jacket and waits. He doesn’t know exactly what future his dad has planned out for him.

Stane rest his meaty paw on Tony’s shoulder. “What your father is trying to say,” he smiles, encouragingly “is that you’ve reached an age where it’s time to discuss your… options.”

“My options.” Tony repeats.

“Trust me, Tony, a boy of your position, has many, am I right?” He grins and claps Tony’s shoulder again, jarring him slightly.

“What—” Tony blinks, feeling sweat prickle the back of his neck “what are my options?”

His father locks eyes with Stane across the table. “Well,” he says “that’s where it gets complicated.”

“Your father and I were discussing before you arrived, Tony,” Stane says “and we may have a… _difference_ of opinion.” Stane offers “We have different ideas for where the company should be headed.”

“No,” Howard counters “we don’t. I just have different ideas as to _who_ it should be headed by.”

“Howard,” Stane say, chuckling “hey, c’mon. Nobodies saying that, no need to get hasty.”

Howard grunts. “Tony, you’re a bright boy. I’ve seen your records. And you’re obviously incredibly talented.”

His says it all in this monotonous voice, droning, like it’s just another thing, like it’s nothing of great importance. And that’s when Tony realises what his father wants.

“But here’s the thing, Tones—” his father says, and his eyes fall on Tony’s glass. “Drink up, that’s it — look, here’s the thing, boy. SI needs a figurehead more than it needs a good man working in R&D, understand?”

Tony blinks. “Uh.”

“Howard,” Stane chides “c’mon, let Tony here—”

“Tony here needs to be a man that can wrangle others into shape, Stane,” Howard says, downing a glass “he’s not gonna do that if he spends four years locked in a room with machines.” He stands, and pour Tony another drink, this time into a larger glass. Tony doesn’t think your supposed to drink that much scotch but he’s past caring.

The drink knocks something loose in Tony’s chest. “But I want to build.”

“But you can’t.” Howard says.

Tony frowns. “But— but I actually want to, I’m not—”

“I agree,” Obie says “Tony, I agree with you, I’m sorry Howard but I’m gonna have to go against you on this—”

“Of course you are,” Howard says. “No one gets more than you if Tony doesn’t takeover SI, right?”

“Howard,” Obie says, voice low, hurt even “Howard, c’mon don’t be like that now, after everything.”

Dad holds up his hands. “No offence, Obie. But it’s true. I’m a paranoid man and you know it. And I have a son, a _smart_ son. It’s why he’s here, man.”

It’s why he’s here. Obviously. Because for a moment Tony forgot he wasn’t living in the court of Henry the VIII and was the blessed only son of a dying king.

“I don’t want,” Tony hiccups, because he’s drunk quite a bit “I d’want to do that, though. I want to be an _inventor._ ”

Howard leans back in his chair, begins rifling through some papers. “Life isn’t fair, Tony. Don’t be, look, don’t be a baby about this.”

Don’t be a, don’t be a baby? This isn’t fair, this isn’t—

“We’ll talk about this later.” His dad says, frowning suddenly and violently scratching though a piece of paper with a pen “Go talk to your mother, she hasn’t seen you in months.”

“I’ve already talked to her.” Tony says, sullenly “She went back to bed.”

Howard blinks. “What was that?” He says, and his voice takes this low, threatening edge. “Don’t talk to me like that, boy. Do not take that tone with me.”

Obadiah kicks him under the table.

“Sorry, dad.” Tony blurts.

His dad grunts, snorts. He downs a shot of something that smells vaguely acidic. “You’re too young, Tony,” Howard says, voice softening “just, trust me on this. Trust me. I wouldn’t steer you wrong.”

_You wouldn’t steer me at all_ A voice at the back of Tony’s head whispers _when have you ever steered me anywhere?_

Obie coughs, and obviously prompts his dad into motion, because Howard forces a smile onto his face. “I think we should go away,” he says “just you and me. Boys holiday.”

What.

For a second, there is a warmth spreading through Tony’s chest. Because this is… this is everything he’s ever wanted. He remembers all those times, trying to get his dad to kick him a ball, trying to get him to take him into the workshop, trying to buy his time with candy and fake $100 notes that he drew himself and coloured in green without telling Jarvis in case he tried to stop him.

Damn, he had been so sure that one would work.

He remembers all those times, and for a moment he nearly screams yes because what if this is the start of it all, what if this is the start of his dad paying attention and taking him places and building shit with him or whatever.

His dad would probably know what to do about Whit.

And Ty.

And then, in that brief moment, he kinda crashes back down to reality because he is being played. Obviously, he is being played. Manipulated. It’s really stupid of him to think that his dad would actually want to spend time with him.

“I have school.” Tony says shortly.

“Oh,” Howard says, and Tony sees both the men quickly re-evalutating, trying to find the best way to bribe him.

“You can… take him to SI?” Obie offers, shrugging.

Howard claps his hands. “Yes!” He says, leaning back, pleased. “Tony, you can go with your old man, right? He’ll show you around, show you the ropes, brilliant,” Howard sucks on mint “why didn’t I think of it before? Perfect.”

That is literally the opposite idea of fun.

“And when you get back, you’ll be in a better place, just you see, Tony, just you see.” 

He pours himself another tall glass.

 

 

 

 

Later that night, Tony sits in the garden under the shade of the three trees.

He likes it out here. As much as is possible, he’s always felt safe. The night is humid, and the sun is starting to set. Tony sits on the bench his mother bought and thinks.

He’s thinking about what his dad said and how he’s going to have to work hard and how he might not make the grade and how he doesn’t want to go into business and how great Whitney looks in a swimsuit and how amazing Ty looks in nothing.

When there’s a heavy slap on his back.

Tony jumps, jerks, because he smells the thick smell of alcohol hanging in the air, sees it in the setting sun dampening his father’s shirt.

“Tony,” Howard slurs “Tony, Tony, shh, listen, listen to me.”

Tony scrabbles to the side of the bench because he hates it when his dad gets drunk, _hates it,_ he’s old enough to know that most of the shit that went down when he was a kid was because his dad was always drunk, is still always drunk, and it’s disgusting.

His father slings an arm over his shoulder. “Tony,” he says again “listen boy, listen, b’cause I can’t say this,” he looks around, to the left and to the right and then ducks his head, talks in a loud whisper “I can’t say this around Obie, ‘kay?”

Tony cranes his neck away from Howard’s rancid breath and keeps his lips locked tight, nodding rapidly.

“He want’s to—” a burp, and Tony wants to throw up, the weight of his father’s hand like a noose around his neck “he wants it, understand? All of it, Tony, and you,” a thick finger meets him square in the chest “you’re gonna, you’re gonna _stop_ him, hmm?”

Tony says nothing and tries to inch away.

“It’s s’all on you, m’boy,” and Howard laughs, lists dramatically to the side so he’s resting heavily on Tony “all on you, and I mean, I wanna build, I would, Tony, I would _love_ you to build, goddamn, it’s not fair that you don’t getta,” a hiccup “that you don’t get ta’ do that shit, s’not fair at all, but you gotta man up, boy, you gotta grow up, s’not fair, it’s a big bad world out there and you gotta be ready, you gotta be able to take that shit and—”

Howard throws up.

Tony sighs. Calmly, he detatches himself from his father’s limbs. Props him up against the bench.

He walks down the path to the patio and raps on the kitchen door. Jarvis opens.

He frowns, face twisting in concern. “Tony—”

“Dad’s been sick.” He says. “I’m going to bed.”

Tony doesn’t sleep until late that night, or at least until he hears the birds sing outside his window and the first cracks of light slip in from his balcony doors.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have another chapter that should follow pretty quickly but is a lot shorter.
> 
> I hope you guys are still enjoying this. I am trying to streamline it so it doesn't get incredibly boring. I've revised my plans for this part in that it'll focus mainly on Tony's relationships.
> 
> If you have any critique on writing style I would love to hear it!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goddamnit Obie

His dad never takes him to SI.

Obie does, instead.

It’s okay, actually. Not fun, exactly, but better than Tony expected. Everyone is really nice, which is probably because he’s gonna be their boss one day.

At the end, Obie slings an arm over his shoulder and tugs him to his office. He pours himself a brandy and offers one to Tony.

“Don’t tell your old man, eh? This can be our secret.”

It’s weird, because Obie had seemed pretty against drinking yesterday, but now he’s cool with it. Tony figures it’s because he doesn't trust his dad, which is okay because Tony doesn’t really trust him either.

“About this… business thing,” Obie sighs, sitting on the edge of his desk and placing his brandy on the table “look, Tony, I want you to know that ultimately I think you should choose whatever makes you happy.”

Tony blinks. “What makes me happy.” He repeats.

Obie chuckles, but he keeps his head low. “Yes Tony. I know, weird concept, right?”

“No,” Tony says slowly “not… not weird. Just, I mean,” he sighs “it’s just that’s for other people, you know? Uh, I mean, people who don’t have weapons manufacturing as, like, their job or whatever.”

“Being happy isn’t a… it’s not a sin, Tony. Not something you should have to give in to. Ideally, humans would feel happy all the time, right?”

“But they don’t.”

“No,” Obie hums “they don’t. Tony, you’re a young man now, so I can trust you with what I’m about to say, right?”

Tony sits up a little straighter.

“Tony,” he starts, “m’boy,” he smiles “look, your father and I… we go way back, okay? And we’ve been business partners a while. I love your father very much, Tony.”

For a moment Tony freezes, because what exactly is Obie trying to say?

“But he’s not a happy man, is he, Tony? No, not at all. You know why?”

Tony shakes his head.

“Work, Tony. Your father works too hard. Always has. That’s why he has me. And even then…” Obie considers “even then, it’s not enough. Your father devoted his life to something he does not love, Tony.”

“I d’know, Obie, he sure does love to work.”

Obie smiles up at him, wry, and Tony thinks he can detect some of the underlying bitterness there.

“Your father spends more time at work than he does with you,” Obie holds up his hands “hey, I get it. You’re allowed to be annoyed. But he does it all for you, Tony. So you can take over SI when he’s gone.”

Tony doesn’t think his dad will ever be gone, really.

“Great,” Tony says “that’s great. I don’t care. He wants me to, to take business or whatever so I can take over the company that I don’t even want. He doesn’t spend time with me, or mom, or anyone, whatever, so that he can apparently make this great empire for me that I don’t want. It’s his fault if he’s not happy.”

“You’re a cynical young man, Tony.”

“Whatever.”

Obie smiles again. “Can I tell you a story, Tony? Just, listen to this, okay? Your father, before he worked his way up to be the militaries best man, was a bit more like you. He worked to enjoy himself. Mostly, he worked for the future. Maybe, when he first got into the business, he thought he was gonna save America with the shit he built,” Obie gives his head a sharp shake “uh uh, not any more. But back, then, he was… idealistic. You know you dad worked on project rebirth, right?”

“Captain America.” Tony says dully.

“Damn right. Did he ever tell you about how he flew Captain America out into enemy territory in order to stage a one-man rescue mission?”

“Wow,” Tony dead-pans “I must have missed that bedtime story.”

Truth is, he _has_ heard it. Multiple times. The only times he dad ever talked to him when he was a kid was to talk in his usual, rambling, drunken way about Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos and how he had worked with them personally, how he Captain America was this paragon of virtue, and how he helped him defeat Nazis or some shit.

Obie must sense animosity because he changes tack.

“Your father has devoted his life to something he doesn’t love, Tony. Fine. What about your mom? Would you say she’s a happy woman?”

Tony looks away.

“No.” He says quietly. “I wouldn’t. Because my mom is stuck in a world that resolves around people _she_ doesn’t love.”

“Aww, Tony,” Obie says, voice heavy with sympathy “don’t say that.”

Tony shrugs. “It’s true.”

Obie’s heavy paw hits him on the shoulder. “You know you can always come to me, right? If you need something. I won’t turn you away, boy.”

Tony’s smile plays tight over his lips. “Sure, Obie.”

"Do what makes you happy, Tony."

"What makes me happy?"

"Fuck your dad. Take engineering."

 

 

 

Tony leaves for school four days later.

Strangely, his mother is there to see him off to school.

She’s wrapped in her gown, her old dressing gown, and she’s wearing slippers.

Tony is fourteen. But briefly, he’s struck by his mother’s fragility. She is… she is not the woman he remembers. The woman with the red lipstick. The woman who would take him to church. The woman who would fight, kick, and spit.

His mother is broken.

She spends her days sleeping. Drinking. All she lives for are her charity galas. The chance to make a difference.

He feels a tenderness towards her. She never protected him, really. But she’s still his mother. He would feel the same way, maybe, if he was married to his father.

Jarvis hugs him tight before he goes. “Be careful, Tony,” he says “please. Don’t do anything… stupid.”

“I would never.”

“If I don’t see you before the tests,” _he won’t._ “Then good luck.”

“See you J.”

Jarvis smiles sadly and ruffles Tony’s hair. “Don’t worry, yeah? I think you worry too much.”

Tony laughs. “If that’s what you want to think.”

Jarvis knows more than he’s letting on.

“Tony,” his mother says, and she smiles at him, head wavering on her neck. It’s rare that she’ll be up before noon. “Please,” she whispers, lips tight “be careful.”

Tony gives her the same smile that he gives Jarvis.

“I always am.”

“No,” she says, and what she says next, Tony will never forget, ever.

“Don’t be him, Tony.” She says, hand clutching his cheeks, nails scraping against his skin. “Don’t ever be like _him._ ”

 


	14. Chapter 14

Back at school, Tony is inducted into what might actually be the most ridiculously rigorous studying timetable he’s ever laid eyes on.

School work has never been difficult for him. Ever. It’s hasn’t been _easy,_ it’s just never really required thought. Tony has, apparently, and eidetic memory, which is pretty cool for learning stuff. When Whitney tells him, flicking through old papers, that he could do this stuff in his sleep, Tony should probably feel comforted.

Except he doesn’t.

Nick Boyle doesn’t help. Tony can’t quite make out whether he has gotten _more_ irritating over the summer, but quite frankly, he hasn’t really got time to figure it out. Between study and Ty and Whit and everything else, Nick Boyle ranks a very low 58 on the list of things that Tony has to worry about.

And Jarvis was right when he said that Tony worries a lot.

“Would you shut up?” Tony grits, bent over his desk, because this shit is easy, sine and cosine rule is easy fucking trig, so why. Isn’t. It. Fucking. Going. In. He’s reading it over and over and he can’t focus at all, nothing is fixing down on the page, and he can’t start the questions until he gets this but this is fucked up, the ink is running all over the page and Tony is ready to kick Nick hard in the dick.

Nick is sitting on the fire escape with his shitty little radio and he keeps flipping the channels. Nick is freakishly tall, not like Ty, who is lithe. Nick is lanky, and his limbs splay everywhere like some kind of octopus or maybe a giant squid. His hair is greasy, so greasy that he doesn’t even need gel to stick it back on his head, and he’s rolled up his shirt and is trying to flex his non-existent muscles.

“Nick!” He screams “Nick, shut the fuck up!”

The radio cuts and he hears the jolt of feet slapping against metal. “What’s up, Tones?” Nick says in that god-awful grating voice.

Tony spins. His eyes fix on the radio. “Turn it off.” He says behind his teeth “Turn it off you retard I’m trying to work.”

(Tony has long ago stopped being able to identify the hurt in Nick’s eyes. Or at least, he’s been able to ignore it)

“Sorry, man,” and he plasters a grin on his face, yellow teeth shining “you working?”

“Nick,” he says “would I be in this room if I wasn’t working?”

Boys have to stay in the dorm block after ten on weeknights so Tony has to work here. It’s nearly midnight.

And yet Nick keeps playing that godawful music.

Tony can’t deal with it. He can’t. He needs to learn this, and he needs to get the questions done, and it’s nearly midnight and then it’ll be one am, two am, three am, and Tony won’t get to sleep at all and then he’ll fucking fall behind and it’ll be that stupid fucking idiot Nick’s fault because he’s such a creepy fucking weirdo and he’s breathing down Tony’s neck.

Tony slams his books into the table, lost in a red haze of intense irritation that has rolled into fierce anger. He bites at his knuckles till he draws blood, the doctor said that he needs to be calm when he gets like this and that he can’t start panicking or shouting. He needs to count to ten, focus on the pain.

He nearly manages it, but then Nick starts chewing gum and Tony, without even a little thought, stands and throws his radio onto the ground, four floors below the fire escape.

Nick blinks.

Tony slams the door behind him, and it doesn’t matter because no one will even hear, they’re so tucked away in this room, so far from anyone. He stalks down the corridors still wearing the jeans and button-down that he wore to class.

“Ty.” He hisses “Ty, I know you’re awake open the fucking door.”

Ty is awake when he opens the door, hair sticking out in all the wrong places and eyes bleary, but he clearly hadn’t been before. He blinks, rubs one of his eyes with a fist, and Tony tries not to think about how cute that is and how he’s done that since they were kids.

Ty’s room mate has chicken pox so he’s alone, which is perfect because there is no way in hell that Tony is going back to that room tonight.

“I need to study.” He says, slamming his books onto the desk as Ty blinks at him.

“It’s one in the morning.”

“Yeah,” he says “sorry about that. Go to sleep. Uh, I’ll just,” he looks at his books “study.”

“It’s one in the morning.” Ty repeats.

“I know,” Tony sighs, rubbing his hand over his face “go to bed, let me read this, _please,_ I just need to study this—”

“No you fucking don’t.” Ty yawns “C’mon.”

“What?” Tony says, trying to frantically find his last page “what? No, I need to, I have a test tomorrow. Got to keep my GPA up or—”

“Tony your GPA is higher than Joey on spring break. You really don’t have to. Get into Den’s bed, he’s not here.”

Tony swivels. “Ty,” he says, voice filled with seriousness “Ty, I am going to fail. I know it. Fuck, fuck, do you know what happens if I fail?”

“Worst case scenario, you re-take next week. Get into bed.”

“ _No,_ Ty,” Tony says, clawing at his hair in frustration “then my GPA falls. I don’t meet the grade to get into college. I fail. My dad _hates me,_ or kicks me out, or I don’t know, and I end up having to graduate with everyone else like a normal person—”

“What happened to your hand?” Ty interrupts.

Tony blinks and looks at his knuckles, slightly swollen and bleeding sluggishly. “Oh,” he frowns “I bit it.”

“That’s healthy.”

“It’s better than throwing Boyle out the fucking window.”

Ty’s face darkens. “What was the little freak doing?”

Tony feels a resurgence of anger hot in his chest. “That stupid radio, Ty, he keeps turning the dial, keeps changing the channel, as if I give a shit, I’m trying to work and he’s dicking about like a creep and it’s going to be the reason I fail—”

“You’re not going to fail, first of all,” Ty says, slumping down on the spare chair against the desk “so stop saying you will, it’s irritating.”

Tony knows that. He knows it must be frustrating for his friends to have to listen to him whine when they’re barely freshman.

“I k-know,” Tony coughs to cover the stutter “I just, just, fuck, what if I fail, what if I—”

“You’re panicking,” Ty says, and he has this thing where he can just detach himself from any situation and speak in the ridiculous calm voice “stop panicking.”

Tony breaths in deeply and exhales. He brings his knuckles to his mouth to bite but Ty drags it down. “Don’t.” He snaps “Don’t bite like that, you’re hurting yourself.”

“That’s the point, Ty.” 

“Okay,” Ty says, yawning “okay, here’s what’s going to happen. What time is your test tomorrow?”

“After lunch.”

“Fine. And you have free periods the whole of Thursday morning, right?”

“Private study, like, guided study, I have to research—”

“Okay, you’re going to miss the first two periods. You’re going to sleep in. When you get up, you’ll still have, like two hours and a half to go over your trig, which, by the way, _you already know,_ and is completely not worth worrying about. Okay?”

“Okay.” Tony says, rubbing the balls of his hands against his eyes.

“Come,” Ty says, tugging his shoulder, pulling him to bed “sleep.”

Tony is tired. Tony is really tired. It’s probably why he’s so irritable. He lets Ty force him into the spare pyjama bottoms from his draw even though they’re way too big and lets him push him into bed.

“This is your bed,” he yawns, and it doesn’t bother _him,_ he just doesn’t want it to bother _Ty._

“Yes,” Ty says mildly “it is. This way you won’t get up when I’ve fallen back to sleep — head down, Tony, I can see you.”

Tony grins into the pillow, eyes shut and body relaxing with pure exhaustion. Ty’s right. Tomorrow, he’ll wake up refreshed, and really he already knows it all, he’s just panicking over nothing. He’ll be fine.

Ty is next to him, which isn’t weird because they’ve slept in the same bed a million times before. It’s really warm under the covers, and Tony barely notices himself rolling closer. He barely notices Ty’s arm wrapping itself around his shoulders and holding him there, too.

His last thought is that he really shouldn’t have broken Nick’s radio. He should build him a new one.

Sleep rises up to meet him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY BUT HAVE YOU SEEN THOSE AGE OF ULTRON PICTURES THO BECAUSE
> 
> GODDAMNIT TONY


	15. Chapter 15

Naturally, Tony gets full marks on his test. 

Ty says that he and Whit are, like, worried because he spends too much time studying in a room that smells like Nick Boyle’s cheesy feet, so on Friday night they go down to the lake.

Tony can’t remember what he had to do to get friends like this, but he knows whatever it was he would do it again and again if it meant getting to keep them.

It’s what is most likely the last day of heat they’re going to get. Ty and Whit have already decided that they’re going to stay for Thanksgiving this year since it’s Tony’s last one and they want closure or something. Tony reminds them that he hasn’t got the grade yet, and if he doesn’t he’ll probably be here for a long time.

He tells them about his dad, and how he wants him taking business, and Whit makes a face and Ty shakes his head and they both tell him that his dad is, unequivocally, a bully and that he should take engineering because he is good at it and he will still be able to make money from it and SI needs someone innovative, anyway.

Ty suggests, in the way he usually does, that maybe Howard feels threatened. Tony laughs, because how could Howard Stark feel threatened by a fourteen year old boy? But Ty’s face darkens.

“Dad’s can be like that, Tony. It’s fucked up. And your old man doesn’t seem very stable.”

Doesn’t seem very stable? It feels weird to Tony to think that he comes from one of those fucked up families. It occurs to him that, if they weren’t rich, they would probably be living in a shitty apartment somewhere or, most likely, Tony would have been abandoned at birth.

Whitney smiles at him from where she’s propped up against a tree. She drags her toes through the clear water of the lake.

“What about you?” Tony asks “What do you want to do?”

Whitney sighs, and looks away. “Honestly? I don’t know. I’m not…” she frowns “I guess I’ll go to Harvard. And take law.”

“Do you want to?” Ty asks.

“Not really.”

“What do you want to do?”

Whitney shrugs. “I don’t know. Most people don’t, Tony. Not everyone has a company behind them.”

“Yeah well I wish I didn’t.” Tony says, ripping grass.

“You’re good at cello.” Ty points out.

“I can’t be a cellist.” Whitney says, “that’s ridiculous. That’s something I do so that when I’m married and holding charity galas I have something to talk about.”

“What do you mean?”

Whitney’s head falls to the side. “When I’m married?” She repeats confusedly, as if she doesn’t understand why Tony doesn’t get it.

“What about Harvard?”

“Yeah, but that’s just for show. I’m going to get married and do charity stuff.”

“Have babies?” Ty’s eyebrows waggle.

“Yes, asshole. _Have babies._ You don’t— why are you looking so surprised?”

Having babies? Getting married? The thought had never occurred to him. It had never occurred to him that Whit might not end up the same way as him, or Ty. That she might end up like his mom.

“Do you… want to?” Tony asks.

Whit shrugs. “Sure. I’m not, like, stupid. I wouldn’t mind not working, or just holding parties. I would be good at it.”

“But you don’t want _more?”_ Tony says, because he can’t understand it at all.

“More what, Tony.”

“ _Life.”_

“What makes you think you’re going to have more life than me?”

Tony doesn’t know, exactly. But he feels like it’s a waste.

“A waste?” Whitney says, softly.

“Sure. You’re wasting yourself on kids and a husband or whatever. You’re too clever for that, Gigi. I know you could do more, I mean,” Tony shakes his head, brow crinkling “where did you ever get the kid idea from? That’s stupid. Loads of girls go to college and get jobs and stuff, and most of them are dumb. You’re not even dumb, and you want to stay at home and have babies. That’s stupid.”

The water from the lake laps gently against the pebbled shore of the wood.

“I—” Whitney frowns.

Silence.

“He’s right, Whit,” Ty says, cutting through the tension like a blade through skin “don’t be a stupid girl.”

Tony remembers that, after that, he had ended up with his head in Whitney’s lap and his feet on Ty’s legs while Whit played gently with his hair. It was nice, and Tony would always remember that last day of summer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going on holiday tomorrow so...
> 
> prayer circle for wifi


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so bc I'm going on holiday take another chapter free of charge

Christmas that year is tense as Tony waits for his SAT results. He knows, intellectually, that he has probably aced every section. People dumber than him do it all the time. But the thought that he’s fucked up hangs with him all the way through Christmas dinner with his Mother, Father, Obie and Jarvis.

When he gets back to school, the envelope they hand him informs him that it was nearly a full 2400, but he knocked off a few marks in writing. Nevertheless, it’s easily enough to apply to the countries best.

Which is the next big problem, really, because Tony’s parents actually call him down for the weekend. As in, they get the chauffeur to drive up to the school, pick him up, drive him down to New York, and talk to him, just like the other parents do.

They’re both there, his mother and father and Obie, too, since he gets the deciding vote. And his dad claps him on the back and hands him all these different prospectuses, Harvard, MIT, Stanford, Caltech, Yale and he tells Tony that he has some pull at all of them those he’s better off applying to those.

“I don’t,” Tony has to clear his throat, he nearly stumbles over his words “I don’t want to do business. Or economics. Or _law._ I want, look, just let me build. I can take Electrical Engineering and Computer Sciences — I _know_ there’ll be a market for it, I know it. Please, I’m shit at business—”

“No,” Howard says “No Tony, c’mon, we discussed this boy. I promise, Tony, you take business and then you graduate, you can do whatever you like! Honestly, boy, you can go take some extra courses and engineer to your heart’s content. But get the brain for business, do it now before it’s too late, or you’ll just be walked all over—”

“Howard,” Tony’s mom says in her small, smooth, calm voice “let the boy take engineering. He’s got the brain for it. He’s right, the market is changing. SI might not be making weapons forever and we need someone to be on top of that.”

“We don’t need anything,” Howard interrupts “I need a—”

“What I think Maria is trying to say,” Obie puts in “is that Tony is obviously a very capable young man and it would be a shame to waste his talents.”

“Yes,” Maria says, eyes still vacant, voice still small “thank you Obadiah.”

Tony’s dad scares him. He has always scared him, and he’s not ashamed to admit it. But Obie was right. He was right when he told him to take engineering, because he doesn’t want to end up like his dad, bitter and relieving glory days, an alcoholic who has just passed the point of being able to function.

Obie can run the company. Tony doesn’t want it. Let Obie do the hard work, and Tony can build the weapons, and it will be _fine._ Easy. He doesn’t know why his dad is so obsessed with it so much.

But his dad’s eyes run cold, and he picks up his drink. “Fine,” he says, voice dead, and there’s such a cruel edge there that Tony nearly balks. “Fine. I’ve tried being nice, Tony. You take engineering, go on, I won’t stop you. But I won’t be here to dig you out of the hold you bury yourself in, Tony. I know what I’m talking about. I know what’s best for my son.”

His eyes fix on Obie’s genial face. 

“But fine. Obviously you have made your decision.”

When has his dad ever been there to dig him out of any holes? Tony feels angry. For a moment, he feels real, very visceral anger, because his dad has never helped him, ever, and why should he be there to help his dad when all he’s ever done is get drunk and shout and hurt his mom. Why should he have to help a man like that? Why should he be forced to take his dad’s company? He doesn’t want to do that. He wants to build. He wants to engineer. He didn’t ask to be born. He didn’t ask for this.

When he gets back to school, his receives the first letter his father has ever sent him.

~~_Tony_ ~~ _~~Son~~  _ _Anthony_

~~ _I know you're young and i get that but you need to understand because if you dont take buisness then obidiah gets SI and that cant happen, tony, you cant let that happen i have a responsibility not just to SI but to the world tony this is bigger than us please you need to take buisness because men like obidiah cannot be in power, i think things about him, im getting to the bottom of him and i dont think he’s all that he seems tony and i don't want him in charge of weapons, i dont want him in charge of you_ ~~

~~ _Tony you’re my son and if anyone_ ~~

_Anthony, you are young. There is a lot you don’t understand. So I am going to try and put it into words in this letter._

_(I am not a writer, Tony)_

_I do not trust Obadiah Stane. He is a good business man but I do not trust him with my life. I do not trust him with my son. Men like Stane want only one thing Tony and that is money. Money brings power._

_I cannot put it into this letter because people might be reading. I need you to get rid of this letter. There are things I cannot tell you about what it is I do and why I do it because you are too young. One day, Tony, I promise that I will explain it to you. I will explain all these things to you. But I can’t now because they are too important._

_What I am trying to say is that SI is just another piece of a large puzzle. I need you to take SI because if you don’t Obie will. And Obie is not a man who should be in power. There are things I am finding out, things related to my summer holidays. i need you to take SI, i need you to take business because then_

_Obie Stane is not a good man and you need to take Si, if stane gets si then he may do bad things._

_you are young and im sorry i have to put this on you. i am sorry you cant build._

_you don't understand but i need you to trust me. just trust me. i am your dad tony i do not want you hurt._

~~_Dad_ ~~ _Howard_

Tony goes ahead and applies to all the universities his father set out for him. He gets accepted to MIT in early April and he takes the offer.

 

His father doesn’t speak to him again until two years later, when he is awarded the award for outstanding excellence on his work on a giant mechanised arm aptly name Dum-E.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so a second prayer circle for wifi please


	17. Chapter 17

The snow has turned to slush under Tony’s feet and it’s disgusting, seriously, someone needs to sort it out because Tony is sure he’s gonna die of, like, trench-foot if someone doesn’t do something about it.

“Tony!” Someone calls, and he hears the splashing of slick slush behind him, the sound of feet slapping against ground “Tony, wait — oh.”

Nick slips and skids across the icy path, back slamming into Tony’s legs and knocking him off balance. He falls, and his wrist bends backwards as it carries his weight. Tony hears the crunch, and then feels pain, gritting his teeth as his wrist cracks under pressure.

“Nnnghhf,” he manages, eyes screwed tight, gasping, holding his wrist in his good hand “Nick,” he pants “Nick you _fucking idiot_ you’ve _broken my wrist—_ ”

“Shit I’m sorry,” Nick stumbles, standing “shit, shit, shit are you okay? Shit, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I had to find you, there’s a call—”

“What?” Tony snaps suddenly, wrenching himself off the ground, wincing when his wrist is jarred “fuck, you _idiot,_ you first class idiot I think it’s broken—”

“There’s a call,” Nick pants “shit, I’m sorry, Behan said to get you, there’s someone on the phone for you—”

Tony blinks, pain momentarily forgotten. “There’s a call for _me?”_

“Yes, you need to come quickly, Behan said it was an emergency—”

Someone’s died. That must be it. His dad is dead, his mom is dead, Jarvis is dead, Obie is dead, his uncle is dead, his cousin, someone must have died, or maybe, what else, hospital, one of his parents are in hospital or the companies gone bankrupt or _something._

_“Shit_ I’m coming,” he says, bringing his wrist to his chest “which phone?”

“By the library, go, _quickly._ ”

Tony staggers and then stumbles off, running as fast as he dares with a broken wrist and icy ground. Oh God, what’s happened, he hopes it’s not Jarvis, he would rather it was literally anyone other than Jarvis, let his mom have died instead, let his dad be in hospital, please don’t tell him that he’s dead or hurt or—

“Hello?” He pants, breathless into the phone, breath fogging in the air “Hello? Who’s there, it’s Tony.”

“Anthony,” his mother says down the line, voice ragged “Anthony, hello, it’s your mother.”

Tony blinks. “Yes, I know, what’s wrong, is someone sick? Why—”

“Your father and I are getting a divorce.” She says frantically “I’m divorcing him, I can’t be married to him anymore, and you’re going to come with me aren’t you Tony? You’re going to live with me. You need to tell the lawyers that you want to live with me—”

What? _What?_

“Mom, I, hold on, slow down—”

“Listen, Tony,” his mom says, voice pitched in a high falsetto “Tony, you’re going to tell them he beats you, okay? You’re going to tell them he beats you and that he beats me, I’ve paid the chef, Tony, he’s going to agree with me and I’ll run with it all in the settlement, I’ll be able to pay for college, sweetie, it’ll be fun, just you and me, but you need to come home and tell the cops that he beats you, okay?”

“Mom, _stop,_ hold on. I’m not, I’m not going to do that, I can’t—”

“Why not?” His mother snaps, voice high and hysterical “Why not I’m your mother, family loyalty, Tony, we can be free now, just tell them—”

“That’s crazy!” Tony shouts “Mom, you’re crazy! I’m not going to do that! Calm down, are you really getting divorced? What happened, where’s dad, why—”

“Tony!” His mother cries “Please, Tony, please! Just do this for me, Tony, just do it for me, please, please.” And his mother starts crying down the phone, so heavily that Tony needs to pull the receiver away from his ear.

“Mom,” Tony tries to rationalise “hold on, I can’t make things up, the police are gonna know he doesn’t _beat_ me, there isn’t a single bruise—”

Except for his wrist. He could say that his dad did it. And his mom would back him up, Jarvis wouldn’t let that slide. He would lie, too, for Tony. Obie would, maybe, because if Howard goes down then the only person who could take the company…

“No,” Tony says, mostly to himself “where’s Jarvis? Where’s dad? Put one on the phone, I want to speak to them—”

“Oh!” His mother cries “Oh you’re just like him you little rat! Ordering and bossing you little pissant I’m giving you a choice and you’re choosing _him_ you fucking shit, you fucking piece of shit,” and she starts crying again “Tony please, Tony _please,_ bambino, bambino please, for your mother, for your mother—”

“Hello?” Someone else says down the line “Hello, Tony? Is that you?”

“Jarvis,” Tony answers in relief “Jesus, what the hell J—”

“It’s bad down here, Tony, it’s bad. I’ll call you later, okay? Did anyone hear? Did anyone overhear?”

Tony shakes his head in the cold air, wrist aching. “No,” he stutters “no, it’s just me—”

“Good, good boy, I promise I’ll call back. I’ll call, Tony, bye—” And he hangs up even while Tony can still hear his mother screaming in the background.

He needs a doctor, probably, because he thinks his wrist is broken. That’s irritating. he huffs into the cold air.

It’s very quiet out here, by the library. It’s right by the woods. Very peaceful, very calm.

It’s cold. Tony hikes his scarf tighter round his neck.

He should find Ty. or Whit. And go see the nurse. He should probably go to the hospital.

Tony feels nothing, really. Nothing but maybe… relief? Because he remembers how much better the summers were when his dad was out searching the pacific. It’ll be better for his parents, he thinks, if they’re separated. Better for him, as long as his parents don’t make him choose.

Maybe he can be emancipated? Or maybe they’ll let him live with Jarvis. Would Jarvis mind that? He hopes not. Tony’s going to college, anyway, but he’s still underage.

He feels a bit bad, though. For his mom. She must be really desperate.

Tony wanders back to the main campus when the pain gets too much. They give him some painkillers and Miss Behan drives him up to the hospital.  

“What was the emergency, sweetie?” She says, eyes meeting his in the rearview mirror.

“My dog died.” Tony lies, effortlessly. He sighs “I loved that dog.”

“Aww, honey,” Behan says, launching into a story about her own dog and how when he passed she cried for days. Tony doesn’t care, but it’s easy to tune out.

It starts to snow, fresh white drops flicking silently to the ground and being subsumed by grey slush and wet concrete.

 

 

 

“Tony, man,” Ty says “Nick said you broke your wrist, where’ve you been?”

“Hospital.” Tony says, shrugging off his coat. “What time is it?”

“Eleven, are you okay?”

“They gave me painkillers.”

“No you seem weird. Are you okay?”

Tony frowns. And he swallows. “What?”

Ty isn’t really one for comfort. He’s never really offered affection. That was always Whitney, she was always the mother of the group. She was the one who would offer kind words, hugs, who would be willing to talk. Ty was a protector, maybe. More often than not, people who had made fun of Tony ended up in trouble.

It’s touching, though, that he notices.

“You seem off. What happened.” Ty says simply, coming to sit next to Tony on the chest in front of the bed.

Tony takes a deep breath, his casted hand heavy. “My mom called. For, like, the first time? I don’t know, Ty. It’s weird.”

Tony lets himself looks at his best friend, lets himself look into his cool blue eyes. And Ty’s eyes are very cool. Cold, even. Tony knows that they are capable of swinging both ways, because there is no in-between with Ty. Either he is compassionate, friendly, protective, or he hates you.

“Tony,” Ty says, and his breath feels heavy in the air “Tony, man, I know your family is—”

“She wants a divorce.”

“Are you surprised?”

“Relieved. But she wants me to tell the cops that dad beats me.”

Ty pauses. “Does he?”

Tony jars. “What?”

“Does he.” Ty repeats, simply. “Has he ever touched you?”

Tony frowns. His dad has slapped him a few times, nothing major. Nothing life threatening. When his dad gets drunk…

Tony remembers when he was a kid. How he used to dread it. How he would piss the bed in fear because he heard his father’s breathing coming down the corridor. Tony never knew what would trigger it, why he would come into his room, why he would do that, why he would shout, and break things, and—

“No.” Tony says “He’s never beat me.”

“Wasn’t the question though, was it?”

“Jesus, Ty!” Tony blinks “Christ, no, never like that. He never, God! Never like _that,_ what the fuck man?”

Ty shrugs. “Had to ask, man. You were a weird kid.” he nudges Tony with his elbow “C’mon, I was just checking. You never know what goes on behind closed doors and all that shit.”

“Yeah, I know,” Tony says, uncertainly “I just— I just.” He looks down.

“Anty, can be honest with you?”

Tony looks up, eyebrow raised.

“You need to stop with the whole parent thing. You need to give it up.”

“I need to… give up my parents.” Tony repeats flatly.

(He didn’t realise that he had ever had them in the first place)

“Listen man, I’m saying this because I think your family’s kinda psycho. I mean it, like, I’ve never met your parents but your dad sounds like he has this, like, _severe_ , crippling drinking problem and your mom sounds, listen Anty, your mom sounds _completely insane._ And that’s not even scratching the surface because I’m pretty sure that she’s got some kind of drinking issue, too, and—”

“What?” Tony says “What the fuck Ty, you can’t say shit like that—”

“Relax, man, listen. I think you need to forget them, just write them off. They’re never gonna be what you want them to be, Tony. Never.”

He’s right, obviously. He always is.

Tony looks at Ty, then. Looks at his eyes, looks at his nose, looks how it curves perfectly in an arc, slightly upturned. His lips, thick and plump, and the way his neck slopes down to his collar bones, just barely visible under his shirt.

Tony’s head goes a bit hazy, because Ty is right there, he’s so close, and Tony can smell him, he can feel his breath on his cheek.

Tony feels like he’s sinking under the weight of intense lassitude. Everything in his body is telling him to just stay here, let Ty lean closer, let their bodies finish what they’re mouths can’t.

“I’m gonna,” Tony’s breath slips, hot from his mouth as Ty’s eyes close “I’m gonna go.”

Ty blinks.

“Right.” He says. “Right. Yeah. Uh.”

Tony stands, because he has to say something to make this better, his has to say something to alleviate the awkwardness.

“I have to call Jarvis,” he blurts “I have to find out, find out what’s happening—” Tony tries to explain.

“Sure,” Ty says quickly “sure, feel better.”

Tony bolts

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on holiday and, you know, it might be difficult to update really regularly. BUT I SHALL TRY.
> 
> Also, I feel like I'm reaching, not, like, a stagnation, because I'm still constantly writing this and I'm actually still really enjoying it, but more of this kinda plot-hole-rut thing where the plot isn't moving along as I want it to. Especially Ty. In fact, Ty is probably the main character I'm having trouble with right now. 
> 
> Feedback on his character would be a massive help!! Seriously!! Massive! If you could just say, based on what you've read, what kind of person he seems to be it would really help steer me in the right direction


	18. Chapter 18

It turns out that Tony’s parents aren’t getting a divorce. Apparently, Tony’s mom, caught in the throes of inebriation, decided to drunk dial her only child in what she viewed as an attempt to stick it to the man.

His mother’s deteriorating mental state would bother him more if he didn’t have Ty and Whit to worry about.

On one hand, Whit. Pros: Socially acceptable. Beautiful. Banging body. Kind. Very Rich. Cons: Is stubborn, temperamental, and it’s absolutely impossible to tell what is going on in her head on a day to day basis.

On the other hand, Ty. Pros: Gorgeous. Funny. Strong. Tony seems to be the only person he really likes, apart from Whit. Cons: Can be a complete asshole. Also, is a boy. Generally speaking, Tony is more likely to get lynched for dating him than Whit.

Tony doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t really know who to ask.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've just started part three and can I just say Tony is going through a m a s s i v e attitude change


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for what could be considered dub-con or at least just damn creepy and homophobia and slurs

Tony is invited home for Spring Break, and in a fit of good will decides to go. He’s curious, mostly. He kinda wants to know what’s going on.

The first night back, he and Jarvis go out for dinner. Both of them, and Jarvis tells him it’s a treat because he never sees him anymore and he wants to know how everything is going and if he’s okay. They go to the Italian place that Tony has loved since he was a kid when Jarvis would order in their pizza when his dad was drunk. It’s nice.

The next night, Tony rummages around for something else to do. He happens upon his father’s alcohol and decides to sample a few. And it really is only sampling because he just tastes a bit from each bottle and decides what he has a taste for. Nevertheless, by the time he’s finished he is pleasantly buzzed, enough not to feel wary about walking around his house after dark.

He carries the bottles back to his father’s study, which is when he bumps into his mother.

“Mom,” he says, and for a moment he balks, because he is holding seven bottles of very expensive, very alcoholic drinks in his underage hands.

But then he sees the bottles in hers.

“I’m just,” she blinks dozily “hello, Tony. What are you doing home.”

“Spring Break.” Tony nods, sucking his teeth.

Maria hums. “That’s nice dear.”

He gestures to her hands. “What’s in the bottles, mom?”

She sighs. “That’s nice, Tony.” She repeats, then ambles on her way.

Ty is right, though. His mom is completely in whacko world.

 

 

 

Tony loses his virginity to Janet Van Dyne at one of his mother’s charity galas a few days later.

Tony hasn’t seen his dad the whole time he’s been home but he is remarkably not-bothered. He doesn’t care very much. He’s surprised at how well his mom is able to drag herself together, though. She really does love all this charity shit.

Jan is nice, and she’s pretty, and she’s way out of Tony’s league. They both get tipsy on champagne and hide out in Jan’s hotel room for the rest of the evening. Tony’s mom doesn’t notice he’s gone and Jan’s dad thinks she has stomach cramps and so is definitely not going to be knocking on her door anytime soon.

Tony’s mind isn’t exactly blown away. It’s Jan’s first time, too, and neither of them know what they’re doing. They just giggle through it all until Tony finally manages to figure it out, and then it’s over pretty quickly. Jan frowns, because she says she doesn’t know what she was expecting, and Tony nods.

“Is that it?” She asks.

“I don’t know.” Tony says, confusedly. He thinks back to when he overheard the girls at school talking and figures that he could probably try something else.

“I could try again?” He offers.

“Can you get it up that quick?” She asks.

“No, I mean, for you. I can try to, you know.”

“Oh!” Jan says “Sure,” and she grins “I haven’t got a problem with that.”

They spend the rest of the night fooling around and Tony figures out all the right buttons to press to make a woman happy.

 

 

 

It’s awkward, back at school, because of what happened with Ty. So he tells him about Jan, and Ty claps him on the back and asks him what it felt like, and how it happened, and was she hot and does Tony love her. Tony shrugs as says if felt good, it was at his mom’s party, she was very pretty and no.

They’re playing at being friends. At being two boys, two, platonic, best friends. Ty is trying too hard, maybe, and so is Tony. He keeps leaving playboy magazines scattered around the room to prove how into girls he is.

Tony doesn’t know if that hurts. He doesn't know what’s happening. He just knows that some of his best dreams involve Whit and Ty and that the two of them are interchangeable.

Tony knows he’s not exactly attractive. He’s got bug eyes, and he’s short, skinny, and his hair is curly and never stays down. His face is always oily, and some days he just wants to tear at his hair because he never seems to be as put together as Ty. But it does a lot for his confidence that Janet Van Dyne thought it would be fun to lose her virginity to him.

When he tells Whit, she just stares at him. And then she gets that screwed up look between her eyes. “At your mom’s _charity gala?_ ” She exclaims.

“Yeah, it was really weird,” Tony says, frowning “I don’t know, I thought it would be better I guess.”

“Wasn’t it fun?” Whitney asks.

“Yeah,” Tony shrugs “I guess. She enjoyed it a lot.”

“Was she pretty?” Whitney demands.

“What?” Tony blinks.

“I said, was she pretty? Is she prettier than me?”

Tony thinks. “Yeah, maybe. I don’t know.”

He doesn’t really want to admit that he thinks Whitney is pretty.

Her lips tighten. “You don’t _know?”_

“Yes, Whitney, Christ, it’s not like I spend every waking hour thinking about how pretty you are—”

Whitney storms past him and Tony stumbles. 

For fucks sake, what’s he supposed to do? What does she want to hear? It’s not like he can _call her_ pretty, that’s obvious and it’s so awkward. So what if he thinks Jan is good looking, he’s allowed to think that. God, Whit is such a drama queen, she just loves storming off.

Later, two girls come up to him while he studies in the library.

“You’re Whitney’s friend, right?” One of them asks, as the other tries to hold in her giggles.

“Uh,” he answers, eloquently.

“She’s been crying in the toilets since lunch.” The other says, matter-of-factly.

“Cool?” Tony answers, because what do they want him to do about it? He didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not his fault if Whitney takes everything he says the wrong way.

 

 

 

 

“She was _crying?”_ Ty says, frowning.

“I know, right?” Tony holds up his hands.

“Girls are weird.”

“Yeah,” Tony says, and he sees the way Ty flicks his tongue out over his lips “they are.”

 

 

 

 

One night, Tony wakes up screaming.

He rolls, quickly, and tries to stifle the sound, brain still caught somewhere between fear and reality and and breathes, panting into his pillow, shaking. He had been so sure, he could have sworn that there was a man crawling through the window, God, oh God, that was fucked up.

“Tony?” Nick says “What’s wrong, you sick?”

Tony can’t respond, because he’s still not entirely sure what’s happening. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and buries his head in the pillow.

“Tony—”

“Is there a man?” he croaks, voice on the edge of breaking, and he doesn’t dare look up “Is he, is the window open?”

“What the hell, Tones, no, there’s no one here, are you okay, man?”

Tony gives this low sort of groan of fear. “Are you sure?” He asks.

“Yes, I’m sure, Jesus, Tony it’s two in the morning.”

Tony chances a glance up and Nick’s right. The window is firmly shut and the fire escape empty. It had just been a dream.

“Oh Jesus,” Tony pants, and then huffs breath in relief “holy shit, that was messed up.”

Tony rolls onto his back, hands pressed behind him and face sweaty, and stares straight ahead.

Nick’s on his bed, opposite to Tony as always, except his face a obviously red in the low light and there are tissues strewn around the bed.

Tony blinks. “What the fuck.”

“It’s not what,” Nick shakes his head “it’s not what it looks like.”

Tony stares. “Really?” He says mildly “Because it looks like you were jerking off.”

“I wasn’t watching you,” Nick blurts “shut up.”

“I didn’t say that.”

There’s a long, drawn out, intensely uncomfortable silence. Even when Tony is older, and he’s had his fair share of awkward silences, when he’s been humiliated and when he has humiliated others, it will never quite match up to the perversive, stifling heat of the room.

“Were you,” Tony blinks sleeps from his eyes “were you jacking off to… me?”

“No!” Nick says, and he tugs the covers tight over himself “Fuck off and sleep I’m going to bed shut up.”

Tony blinks again, slowly. “You can’t do that.”

“Shut _up_ Tony!” Nick spits, rolling over in his sheets and blocking his ears.

“That’s disgusting.” Tony says, his face finally crinkling as what just happened catches up with him “That’s fucking sick you creep, I’m going—”

“Wait!” Nick cries, spinning from the sheets as Tony’s feet hit the floor “Wait, don’t, look don’t tell anyone, I know, I saw you and Ty—”

“What.”

“I _saw_ you! You can’t lie, so you can’t tell anyone I was jerking off—”

“So you _were_ jerking off!”

“—You can’t tell _anyone_ I was jerking off watching you, please, Tony, _please.”_ Nick hisses.

Tony stumbles. “I didn’t kiss Ty.”

Nick draws back. “I didn’t say that.”

Tony swallows. “You’re a fucking fag.”

“Then so are you.”

Tony’s heart contracts tight in his chest. “I’m not a _fucking fag.”_

“You kissed a boy, that makes you a fag! But I like boys, too. So—”

“I didn’t _kiss_ him, we weren’t even, it’s not like we were close you fucking liar, what the fuck were you doing spying on me anyway, getting more jerk material? You little—”

“I wasn’t _spying!”_ Nick sound close to tears. “I swear Tony, I swear, I was just, I was looking for you because of your wrist, I wanted to apologise properly. I swear—”

“So what you sick freak?” Tony hisses, aware that they can’t raise their voices “You sick bitch, get away from me.”

“How can you say that? How can you say that when _you_ like guys—”

“ _I don’t like guys!”_ Tony spits the words, expelling them from behind tight teeth. “Stop making shit up just because you want do masturbate over me you fucking _freak!”_

“How can you call me a freak when you are _exactly the—”_

“I didn’t _masturbate over your sleeping body you asshole!”_ Tony spins “Fuck I can’t stay here, I’m going to Behan—”

“Wait!” Nick cries again “Please, Tony, c’mon you can’t,” and Tony thinks Nick is about to cry “I swear, please, fuck come on, Tony. Please. Everyone’ll, they’ll, they’ll probably kick me out. I can’t, I’m not gonna get a chance like this again. _Please.”_

It’s the first time anyone’s ever begged Tony for anything, and he hates it.

(Somewhere, though, it gets lodged in his brain. Because it’s power, isn’t it. Having power like that. You could be the messiah himself and still be corrupted by it’s grip in your chest)

Tony relents.

“Go to sleep.” He says with finality. “Just go to fucking sleep. You don’t—” Tony steps closer, and he sees Nick visibly recoil “if you dare breathe a single fucking word about Ty I swear to fuck I will kick you down the fucking stairs and make it look like an accident.”

Whatever Tony did, it must have worked because Nick never mentions it ever again.

Later, a lot, lot later, he regrets what happened with Nick that night. He wishes he had said something else, or had engaged his brain just a little, or tried to connect the dots before it was too late.

Anyway, he didn’t.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Without giving too much away, I have some very large plot ideas for the au that this is gonna slip into after I finish following movie canon. I'm not sure, honestly, what you guys would prefer, because I have an idea that is very... hmm, I mean, it's not cheerful. And it's a bit heavy. Would you prefer the more drama style thing i've got going on now or the angst-ridden very heavy, not-cheerful-until-it-gets-cheerful action plot?
> 
> Abg tvivat gbb zhpu njnl, ohg vg vaibyirf Gbal fhssrevat oenva qnzntr juvpu vf yngre zntvpnyyl fbyirq ol rkgerzvf
> 
> ^ http://www.rot13.com/ paste that into the box to read the spoiler


	20. Chapter 20

“Tony, you’re doing it wrong.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Tony says “how exactly do you do this right?”

Tony is packing. Ty is supposed to packing as well, but unlike Tony, he’s only going home for the summer. Tony is never coming back.

“Just,” Ty frowns “just throw it all in.”

“What about this?” Tony says, holding up a book “What do I do with this? And this? Fuck, and this, where are these _coming from—_ ”

“I’ll get Whit.” Ty says “She’ll know, she’s good at this shit.”

“We can do it without her.” Tony says, turning back to the suitcase, because it’s been weeks and Whit still isn’t talking to him.

“Did you fight?” Ty says, bluntly, and he doesn’t sound curious, exactly, he sounds like he’s evaluating a science experiment. “Anty, sugarpuff, that’s not nice.”

Tony blinks. “Sugarpuff?”

Ty grins and slides onto the floor. He sorts through Tony’s books for him, carelessly throwing the biggest ones to the side. “You don’t need these.” He yawns.

Tony snatches his hand. “ _Sugarpuff?”_

“I’m sorry, would you prefer daisydoo?”

Tony rolls his eyes. Ty has taken to using pet names as a way of staving off awkwardness. Tony thinks it’s because it gives them a point of conversation.

“I’d prefer if you put that book down and did something productive with your life — no, don’t touch that, don’t — _I said don’t touch!”_

Tony smacks Ty’s hand away from encyclopaedia of world history, letters H to J. It falls with a heavy thud where Ty drops it onto the floorboards. 

“Thanks, asshole.” Tony gripes, trying to snatch it back with one hand.

“You won’t be able to fit it in, Anty. Just leave it. I’m sure Boyle would appreciate something to look at in his free time.”

Tony snorts, because incidentally, it is the kinda shit that Nick likes to occupy his time with. But the set was a gift from Jarvis so the whole thing goes into the pile.

“You should talk to Whitney,” Ty says casually. “It would be sad to end it on a bad note.”

“End it?” Tony says, tossing old socks into the bin “I’m not ending anything. I have no intention of ending anything at all. Not my fault if she’s being a stubborn bitch.”

“Yeah, but you know why she’s being a stubborn bitch. Get your head out of your ass.”

“My head isn’t—”

“Your head is so far up your ass it can see your teeth, Tony.” Ty says, fixing him with a glare. “Don’t be a silly boy. Talk to her.”

“I don’t know what I did _wrong._ ”

Ty frowns. He blinks. “You— you honestly don’t know?”

“Don’t know _what_ Ty.” He hasn’t got time for this, for one of Ty’s games. It’s stressful, and irritating, and he would appreciate it if Ty would jus _tell_ him.

“You’re so fucking clueless, Tony. What is wrong with you.”

Tony turns away and just packs because if Ty isn’t going to tell him he can’t be bothered.

This must irritate Ty, because he loves an audience. “She’s got a massive crush on you, Tony. Like, massive. Fucking huge. Always has. I actually can’t believe you can’t see it,” Ty’s eyes narrow “then again, there’s a lot you can’t see.”

Tony laughs. “Don’t be stupid, Ty. She likes you a lot more than she likes me.”

“Oh yeah? What’s your basis for that argument?”

Tony shrugs. “You’re just. You know. I would, uh.” Tony is skating on dangerous territory, so he changes tack. “I mean, I’m not really a swimsuit model, so. I wouldn’t.”

“Jan slept with you,” Ty points out “you’ve slept with exactly one more woman than I have.”

Tony laughs because if that isn’t crazy he doesn’t know what is. “That’s a fluke, though. She was nice, we were the only kids there, so why not?”

“What?” Ty laughs “Oh my God, you little playboy.”

“Ty.” Tony whines, because Ty does that a lot. He’s only a few months older than him but he always talks down to Tony. Like an older brother, maybe, except Tony will be the one going to college.

“Anty no one gives a shit if you look a little like a stretched out bug. You’re funny. And you’re rich. The rich bit is important. It will be, when you go to _college_ and your picking up all this puss—”

“I’m fifteen.” Tony deadpans.

“So? Some woman like younger men.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Ty clucks his tongue, grins, and holds out his hands. “I’m just saying, man. Expand your horizons, sugarpuff. If you sleep with enough women you might even get good at it”

“Funny.” Tony says, turning away. Ty is getting on his nerves.

They sit in silence for a while as Tony sorts through his junk. Eventually, Ty relents.

“C’mon, Anty, you know I was joking.”

“Uh huh,” Tony says, throwing a picture of him and his father standing in front of the roadster on the dump pile, then changing his mind and slipping into the front of his book.

“Why do you get like this?” Ty pouts “Why do you get so sulky, I was just joking. Come on, you get all the girls, Tony. I’m just jealous.”

“Hmm,” Tony says, non-commiteddly. “You’re lying.”

“What?” Ty says, brow furrowing, face in a twisting in a facade of confusion “No! Why do you always think that? I’m not lying, you would be jealous too if your weedy little brother went and lost his V-card before you did and had the attention of the hottest girl in the year and was literally _completely oblivious_ to it.”

Tony relents. It doesn’t take much. The words ‘little brother’ and the idea that Ty could be jealous of something that Tony has sends his brain into mush mode.

“Whitney doesn’t like me like that.” Tony says quietly.

“You bet your fucking dollar she does.” Ty says. And then his face takes a genuine look of confusion. “Why can you not see when people like you?”

“Maybe it’s because my head is up ass, Ty.” Tony bites out.

“No,” Ty says “I think you just don’t believe it. Or maybe you’re a shit judge of character.”

“That could be true.” Tony admits, wrapping up a plastic bag.

Ty laughs. “Whit is crazy about you. Jokes aside, though, she really is. I mean, you told her that you slept with Jan…”

Tony looks up. “You think _she_ wanted to… I mean, you think she wants to, she thought she was going to be my first?”

“Maybe. Or maybe it’s just that you slept with someone else. That she’s been right there all these years and you just kinda—”

“She’s like a sister to me. You don’t fuck your sister.”

“And you’re like a brother to me.”

Silence.

What? What does that mean?

“Point being,” Ty continues “is that it’s actually accepted in some cultures, maybe you should—”

“You’re sick in head.” Tony says, throwing a book at his face.

 

 

 

Later, though, Tony does go to see Whitney.

Maybe it’s because there’s a chance he’ll get something he wants. Because he does really, really like Whitney. And he is sorry if he’s been a dick. He didn’t mean to be. Tony knows that Ty is out of bounds, completely not possible, but Whitney is still here, and she wants him, maybe, so why not? Why not _try._ Why not take something _he_ wants, for once.

She’s playing the cello when he knocks on her door. Technically, boys aren’t allowed to be in the girl’s dorms past six pm, but Tony’s been sneaking in and out of here for years.

Whitney looks up, briefly, from where her head had been tilted, bowed, and focused on the movements of her fingers across the strings. She draws the bow across the instrument one last time, and sets it down, carefully placing it into it’s case.

“Tony,” She says, playing with the clasps, crouched “all packed?”

“Yeah.” Tony says, scratching the back of his head and standing in the doorway. “Yeah, nearly. Uh, you?”

She nods.

Tony licks his lips. “I just, I came to say hi. I haven’t seen you in ages, so.”

“Hmm,” Whitney says, dreamlike, and Tony thinks it shouldn’t take that long to put a cello back in it’s case. 

“Are you gonna look at me, maybe?” Tony says, half-smiling, stepping forward.

Whitney stands, and turns, and crossed her arms. She is not smiling.

“I was just,” Tony’s smile falters “I wanted to… look, Whit, what’s wrong?” He says, and he holds up his hands “honestly, please, if I’ve done something you need to tell me.”

Whitney’s face hardens. “If you don’t know then I’m going.” She says, and she moves to storm past him. 

Tony grabs her arm. “Whitney,” he says “you can’t just disappear when someone wants to talk to you.”

She wrenches her arm free. “You’re a _asshole,_ Tony Stark.”

“Yeah,” Tony says, rubbing his face “look, I get that a lot. Please be more specific.”

“You know.” Whitney says, sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes narrow “You know what I’m talking about.”

“Whitney,” Tony exhales, coming to sit on the bed “Whitney, I really don’t. Please, I don’t want to fight with you. Just, be mature about this. Please.”

Whitney looks away. “You know, though. I know you know. _Everyone_ knows.”

Tony decides he should take a chance and just say it because otherwise they’ll never finish. “Whit, is this about Jan? Is this about me, you know, sleeping with her? Because that wasn’t, I was _bored,_ you would have done the same if you had to go to a charity gala and your mom was drinking and your dad wasn’t talking to you and everyone else was looking at you like some kind of freak.”

Whitney looks at him. “You do know.” She whispers.

“Well,” Tony scratches the back of his head. “I didn’t. Ty had to, uh, point it out. I’m not, I’m really not good at this stuff. Relationships. Or, uh, people. In general.”

“I know.” Whitney says. “I’ve known you since you were six.”

Tony pauses. “You have, haven’t you.” He says, almost fondly.

“Shut up.” Whitney says, and there’s none of her usual hardness there. She nudges him with her elbow and looks away and Tony realises that Whitney is shy. Which is unusual. Because this is the girl who, at six, kicked Nick Boyle in the ass because he wouldn’t leave Tony alone.

Tony should do something, now. Now would be a good time to, like, put his arm around her shoulder. Or hold her hand. Fuck, what does he do.

He’s slept with someone before, but everyday intimacy is a mystery to him. He doesn’t know how to hug someone, or to give them a simple kiss on the cheek. He doesn’t know how to stroke someone’s hair, or tell them he likes them. He doesn’t know how to ask for things, or how to say no. It’s strange, because Tony has always been like this, and yet for the first time it’s occurred to him that is might not be normal. That there’s something wrong with him.

Sex would be better. He wouldn’t have to care about the person to have sex. Kissing seems too… personal.

Whitney turns her head to look at him. “Are you going to do anything?” She says bluntly, shyness dissipated “Because if not I have to pack.”

Tony grins, because that makes it easy. Whitney knows him. She makes it easy for him.

He kisses her.

 


	21. Chapter 21

When Tony leaves Harwell, it is sunny. He should probably feel sentimental, or some kind of nostalgia, since he did spend his entire childhood here, yet he finds he really doesn’t care.

He leaves his room and doesn’t look back.

Nick waves from the window. Briefly, Tony considers waving back. But he just turns, and heads into Ty’s chauffeur’s car.

He’ll travel to Cali with Ty for three weeks, and the get back home to start preparing for college. College. He is fifteen, and going to college. No pressure there, then.

He resolves to get the best grade he can. Graduate with the highest honours. Because his dad hasn’t spoken to him in months and he needs to show him that, sure, he took engineering, but at least he can be the best. Imagine graduating at the top. The youngest boy to graduate from MIT with the highest honours.

He thinks he and Whit might be dating now. He’s not sure. He’ll figure it out when he gets to Ty’s.

 

 

 

Tony sucks at the top of the beer can, tips it up and drains the dregs. Throws it to the side.

It’s his fifth in the past hour.

Ty giggles next to him in the that high, grating way he has and Tony cracks open another, swashes his feet in the pool as the water laps over the side and wets his shorts. 

It’s dark out, and Tony can hear the crickets. Just the crack of cans, the lapping of the pool, the crash of the ocean. Laughter, sweat. Tonight is humid.

Whitney isn’t drinking, but she has her head propped up against Tony’s leg. He’s semi-playing with her hair, one hand dragging over her scalp and the other clutching a can. Her eyes are half-shut, and Tony knows she’s sinking with lassitude.

He is drunk. He’s never really been fully drunk, and it’s an exhilarating experience. No matter what he says, or what he does, no one cares. He can be whatever he wants to be when he’s drunk, and people will laugh with him instead of at him. It’s brilliant.

He giggles when Ty lists to the side and falls against him. Tony hooks an arm over his shoulder, because he feels brave, and he lets his head rest on Ty’s. Ty traces the pattern in the thread of his jeans, up and up, until he’s skimming Whitney’s hair, and so close to his crotch.

Tony lets his beer can roll, burps. Whitney’s face wrinkles in disgust and Ty laughs hysterically.

“Beer makes you fat, boys,” she says, nose crinkling “you’re going to end up with a beer belly.”

Tony blinks. “Where’s your bikini?” He asks in response.

“My bikini?” Whitney answers, raising an eyebrow but smiling. “I took my bikini off, Tony, remember?”

Tony sighs dramatically. Goddamn, he loves that bikini. Whit doesn’t wear swimming costumes anymore. And she has really, really, goddamn, really really really nice breasts.

“Put it back on,” he slurs “put it, where’s m’drink?” He gropes his hand back but forgets he was using it to prop himself up, falling back against the warm stone of the poolside.

Whitney’s hands follow him down. “Why don’t we go inside?” She breathes in his ear.

Tony giggles. Go inside. What does Whit want to do inside? He thinks he can guess.

“Ty,” he breathes “where’s Ty?”

“Right here, Anty,” Ty sighs, head tilted back in the light breeze, dragging his feet through the lit water of the pool.

“Okay,” Tony sighs “that’s good.”

He could just stay here. Safe.

“Tony,” Whitney’s hands are more insistent “c’mon. Let’s go _inside.”_

“Inside,” Tony murmurs “inside.”

“Yes,” she says, exasperated, and Ty laughs, one hand coming to grasp at the back of Tony’s shirt.

“I can, yeah,” Tony stumbles. Whitney plasters herself across his chest. “Sure,” he grins, and then whispers “let’s go inside.”

 

 

 

“Tony,” Ty says, on another night while they’re both stretched out on the sand by the crashing waves “Tones, what are you going to do without me?”

(When Tony is older, he’ll remember that sentence. It wasn’t ‘will you be okay on your own?’ or ‘will you miss me?’ or ‘I don’t want you to go.’ It was ‘what will you do without me’ as if Tony cannot function without Tiberius Stone)

Tony sighs. “I’ll be fine, Caesar. I’ll be allll good.”

Ty had sat up, frowned. “But what will you do without me?”

“I don’t get it, Ty.”

The crease between Ty’s eyebrows had deepened. “I mean, who is gonna look after you? You won’t be able to manage on your own, sugar. You never have been.”

Tony tries to drink away the drunken stupor but instead works himself into a mini drunken rage. “You asshole,” he slurs “I,” a burp “I’m fine on my own. I’m fuckin’ fine, don’t—”

Ty tilts his head. “But you weren’t. Before I came, you were a mess. Remember your stammer?”

Tony swallows. “ _Fuck off,_ Ty.”

But Ty’s eyes harden. “What if it comes back, Tony? What if you start to stammer again.”

Oh Christ. It’s almost like Ty _knows._

“I—” Tony swallows, his anger dissipating, to be replaced by an intense fear in his chest, and anxiety he has carried unsaid for so many years, because fuck what if he gets scared or nervous or whatever and the words start to crack out of his mouth or bubble from his lips and people look at him like he’s some kind of freak. Fuck, he can’t do that, he’ll just kill himself, Ty’s right, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do without friends, how he’s going to hide.

“I don’t,” he whispers “I don’t know, shut up. Don’t, don’t say that—”

“I’m looking out for you, Anty,” Ty says sadly “please, listen. I just, you know, I worry about you.”

Ty always had. Ty has always worried about Tony, and Tony doesn’t know what he did to deserve it.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Tony says, and he lets his head droop. He doesn’t know, all these months he’s carried with him the fear, what if, oh God, it sounds so _childish_ and stupid, like a big fucking baby, but what if no one _likes_ him, he, fuck, he has to be liked. Has to be. What if they make fun fun at him or laugh at him or, doesn’t matter, Tony knows that he’ll be stammering like a fucking baby who can’t make the stupid words come out right.

He needs Ty. He needs Whit. He wishes Jarvis could come with him. He doesn’t know what to do, because he doesn’t think he’s ready to go to college, to just be thrown out there, with no one holding him up. He wishes, kinda, that his mom would just help him, any other mom would tell his dad to fuck off and let him finish school like a normal kid but she just nods and smiles with empty eyes, and she never hugs him, ever, and his dad hasn’t talked to him in over half a year because he wouldn’t take the stupid business course and —

Never before has Tony felt so alone.

“It’s okay, Anty. We can figure it out.”

Tony shakes his head in a wordless sob. Oh fuck, oh God, this is so pathetic. 

“I’m not crying,” he answers, drawing his knees to his chest and rapidly drying his eye with one hand, trying not to blink tears. “Fuck off, stop looking at me.”

Ty continues to stare. “You don’t need to worry.”

“ _Yes,”_ he hisses “I do. You don’t, you don’t get it Ty, your parents love you and, you’re fucking hot, and everyone likes you, literally everyone, and I’m me and my parents don’t, no one likes me, I talk too much or a I talk too little or fuck, whatever, you don’t get it, you’ve never stammered—"

“I wet the bed until I was ten.”

“That’s not _the same.”_ Tony grits out. “So did I. And I had nightmares. I still have nightmares. I dream there’s a man coming through my window and—”

“That’s fucked up.”

“Yeah it’s fucked up.” Tony spits, drying his eyes as anger takes over. “You have no fucking clue, I can’t do _shit_ without, without fucking up, or people looking at me like—”

Ty’s head tilts again, as if watching Tony break down is some kind of experiment. “How does it make you feel?”

“What?”

“How does it feel? Thinking like that?”

“ _Why would you want to know?”_

Ty blinks. “I, hey, I told you man. I worry about you.” And now one hand comes up to squeeze Tony’s knee. “You shouldn’t worry.”

“Brilliant.” Tony says, “Fantastic, you cured me.”

Ty’s face hardens. “Don’t be dick, Tony. I’m trying to help you.”

Tony melts. “I know.” He exhales “I know, fuck I’m sorry—”

“It’s okay.” Ty says quickly. “You’re freaked, I get it. You should have said.”

(Briefly, Tony thinks that Ty was the one who brought up the stammer and set him off but he doesn’t mention it)

Ty scoots closer. “Really, Anty,” he says, and then his voice drops to a whisper “you don’t have to worry.”

Tony covers his the back of his head with his hands and presses it to his knees, as if squeezing it tight will squeeze the worry right out with it.

“Here,” Ty says gently “drink some more.”

Tony takes it gratefully, because the drunk feeling will send him up and loose and he won’t have to worry, the pressure in his chest and in his brain will melt away and it will be okay again.

“Why aren’t you drinking?” Tony asks, throwing the can to the side.

“I am.” Ty answers, even though he’s clearly still sober and Tony hasn’t seen him holding a can all evening.

“You’re so… emotional, Tony.” Ty frowns, and Tony huffs a laugh.

“Yeah?” Tony says, voice grating “And?”

Ty smiles, even though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You have so much _emotion._ I don’t get it.”

Tony doesn’t get it, either.

“So?” He says, cracking open another can. He’ll take this one slower.

Ty leans closer. “Do you really like Whitney?” He murmurs.

Tony stares at him. “I… yes.”

He expects Ty to look away, maybe. But he doesn’t. He just keeps staring.

“She’s very pretty,” Ty points out.

Tony sips, head spinning. “Yeah.” He agrees.

Quiet.

The crashing of waves.

“Will you keep in touch with her when you go?”

Tony shrugs. “D’know,” he says “I d’know. If she wants to, I guess.”

Ty makes a noise. “And what about me?”

Tony looks at him. “Do you want to keep in touch with me?”

Ty’s hand skims the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t want to lose you.”

“As a friend.” Tony clarifies.

“As a friend.” Ty agrees.

 

 

 

 

Tony leaves Ty’s house two weeks later.

He kisses Whitney, and Ty hugs him, and tells him to be careful, fuck lots of girls and try not to mess up.

Whitney kisses him again, except this time she puts effort into it, and she cups his head with her hands and his fingers roam the planes of her firm back, up to her shoulder blades, and feel where they’re harsh, where the bone sticks out due to lack of fat.

Whit is too skinny, but she kisses Tony so hard he forgets about it.

“I’ll see you,” she says “soon. I _will_ see you soon, Tony Stark.”

Tony smiles against the sun. Whitney crosses her arms at looks down her nose at him and it’s a pointed look. She says not to fuck too many girls and Tony takes that as a signal that he won’t have to feel guilty about all of this.

Ty claps him round the back of the neck and pulls him close so their foreheads touch. For a moment, Tony thinks this is it, but then Ty grins and ruffles his hair and Tony climbs into the car.

When he turns to wave, they wave back.

 


	22. Chapter 22

Jarvis is getting old. Or maybe he’s just tired. Either way, there are bags under his eyes, and a bald patch on his head.

He still smiles when he sees Tony, but something has changed over the past few months. He seems worn down, broken. Tony knows, because he sees the same look in his mother’s eyes, in his father’s.

It worries him. 

But Jarvis hugs him tightly nonetheless. “Look at you,” he says, and his eyes start welling with tears “look at you, a young man now. God, where does time go?”

Tony tolerates the endearments for a few more seconds and then wriggles free of Jarvis’ grip on his shoulders. Jarvis shakes his head and looks down at him. “You’ve grown so much.”

“That is generally a thing that does happen over time.”

He gets a swat around the back of his head and Jarvis pushing him into a seat. “You’re too skinny,” he says “you need to eat, don’t you eat?”

Tony shrugs. “I eat. Probably not enough, but, you know.”

Jarvis smiles wryly and chops onions. “Tony, there is nothing good about _not_ eating. You’ve probably got a fast metabolism, doesn’t matter: eat. Put on weight, for Christ’s sake, you look like a bean pole.”

“Traditionally, bean poles are actually supposed to be tall so,” Tony makes a face “you might want to re-think your metaphor.”

“I mean it, though,” Jarvis says, lips pursing “it’s not good, not good at all. Back home you’d be on a diet of beef and chips, Tony. Even better, _fish_ and chips. God,” he says, shoving onions to the side “I haven’t had fish and chips in decades.”

“Fried fish and fries,” Tony grins, because Jarvis never talks about where he came from.

“If you Yanks insist.”

They sit in silence for a while as Jarvis’ onions make both of them cry.

“Whitney doesn’t eat,” Tony says suddenly “she throws her food up.”

Jarvis’ lips purse, they tighten even further, and he throws the onions onto a pan.

“She’s sick, Tony.”

“Well yeah,” Tony grumbles “she’s sick after every meal.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Jarvis says, turning and setting a plate on the table “she’s ill. In the head.”

Tony jolts. “What are you _talking_ about?”

“It’s not normal, Tony,” Jarvis says, throwing a burger on the pan with a hiss and crackle “it’s not healthy. It’s a condition.”

Tony thinks about his mom and the days she won’t get out of bed. Of the days where she doesn’t seem to know what’s happening at all. And he thinks of his dad, locked his study, drinking drinking drinking, always drinking.

“She’s fifteen.”

“Young people can be ill, too.” Jarvis says simply, slicing tomatoes while the burger fries.

Can they, though? Tony thinks about Nick, and he thinks about the midnight masturbating and how that seems pretty sick. And he thinks Joey, back at Harwell, who can add numbers like a calculator but still can’t read because he says the letters swim around the page. 

He remembers how Whitney had cried because Tony hadn’t called her pretty.

Jarvis is looking at him as he slices. He nearly cuts a finger waiting for him to reply.

Tony shrugs. “I guess.”

“It’s not always obvious.” Jarvis prompts.

“Yeah.” Tony agrees.

“Sometimes the person might not even be aware there’s a problem.”

“Sure.”

Jarvis puts the knife down. 

“Your mother told me about the bottles.”

Tony frowns. “What bottles?”

“Over spring break. She says she saw you coming out of your room with six or seven bottles.”

Damn. “I thought she was pretty out of it,” Tony frowns “how is she nowadays?”

“Don’t dodge the question.” Jarvis says, staring up at him from where he’s ducked his head. “Did you drink all of that, Tony?”

“No!” He says quickly “Fuck, no. I just tasted. I was bored.”

“So you drank,” Jarvis says, calmly, fixing two buns on the plate. “You drank because you were bored.”

“Yes?”

“See, that’s what I’m worried about.”

“ _Jarvis,”_ Tony groans.

“I mean it, Tony,” Jarvis says “I mean it. You can’t just drink because you get bored. You can’t. You, especially, can’t. That’s not what alcohol is for. You have to be so, so careful, Tony.”

“I can’t because it’s bad for me or because my parents are drunks?”

“Both.” Jarvis answers succinctly, taking the pan off the grill.

Tony crosses his arms, and huffs a breath. His eyes grow cold.

“Fuck them. I’m not like him.”

“Tony,” Jarvis says quietly “do you think your father started out life wanting to be an alcoholic?”

“There are things he could have done,” Tony dismisses “people who would have helped him. He didn’t want it.”

“There are other factors involved, Tony.”

“Oh yeah? Like what.”

“It’s difficult for a man like your father to get the right help. Because of who he is. There aren’t many people he can trust.”

“No,” Tony agrees “of course, why trust your family? Why trust your wife?” Tony shrugs “It’s a no brainer, really.”

Jarvis falls silent and takes the pan off the grill, slapping the burger between the two buns and spooning crispy onions on top.

“You’re angry.” He observes.

“Am I not allowed to be?”

“You are,” Jarvis says, placing the sliced tomatoes over the meat “and you are young. I’m not going to expect you to understand.”

Tony’s temper, ever short, flares. “Why do you say that? Why does everyone say that, ‘oh, you’ll understand when you’re older’, ‘oh, you’re too young’. I’m old enough to go to college but I’m not—”

“Intellectually you’re a genius, Tony,” Jarvis flips a slice of cheese over the burger “emotionally… you are a child. Have you even had your first kiss yet?”

Tony laughs and says he fucked Janet Van Dyne at his mother’s gala over spring break. Jarvis raises his eyebrows.

“When I was fifteen, that wouldn’t have happened.” He says, lips pursed.

“I didn’t think that was your thing.” Tony says, pointedly.

Jarvis slides the finished burger over to him. “Eat.” He says, shortly.

Tony bites, because he is hungry, and it smells _good._

“I say you’re not emotionally ready,” Jarvis says, leaning back against the draws “because, Christ, Tony. You’re barely fifteen. That’s not — you shouldn’t be doing that, at fifteen.”

“Why not?” Tony asks, mouth full. “Feels good and it’s better than…” he swallows, not wanting to finish the sentence.

“Better that what, Tony?”

“Do we have to talk about this?” Tony whines.

“If you can’t tell me, who can you tell?” Jarvis says succinctly and Tony realises he’s right.

“Better than other things. I don’t know.” He mumbles, fiddling with his lettuce.

Jarvis slides onto the seat opposite. “Like what?”

Tony shrugs. He can’t answer. Or, he can, but won’t.

“Tony.” Jarvis says.

“I don’t know!” Tony exclaims “Other things! It’s easier to fuck someone than have to, touch them, you know, or say nice things, do, fuck, I don’t know.”

Surprisingly, Jarvis puts his head in his hands.

“Uh, J?” He says “You okay?”

The other man runs his fingers over his face, rubs at his eyes. “Jesus, Tony.”

“What’s wrong?” He says, face contorting with confusion “What did I say?”

“Do you feel like that? Do you honestly feel like that?”

“Yes?”

Jarvis ducks his head again. “Oh, God.” He moans.

“What?” Tony says again, pushing Jarvis’ elbow, because he’s scaring him.

“Nothing,” Jarvis says, shaking his head “nothing, nothing Tony, you just, do you really feel like that? Is it honestly difficult for you?”

Tony blinks. “I don’t understand why it’s a big deal?”

Jarvis backtracks. “It’s not, no,” he says quickly “it’s not a big deal. It’s just, _I_ just, Tony, you’re going to go into the world a genius, and you’re too young to be going to college, and you drink, and you, you, you’ve already slept with a girl—”

“Two girls,” Tony winces “there was, Whit. Whit and I. We. Yeah.”

“You see what I mean, though?” Jarvis says, leaning forward and speaking urgently “About not being mature? Emotionally? That’s what it is, Tony. You don’t feel comfortable touching people in a close way, but you’re happy to have sex because it feels good. You’re not, you’re not making the right bonds, you’re not _connecting._ God, it’s almost like that psychiatrist was right.”

“What psychiatrist?” Tony says, exasperated.

“Never mind,” Jarvis says “listen, Tony, is there anything else? Is there anything else you’re not telling me?”

Yes. Ty. College. The stammer. His nightmares, the man who crawls through his window, who every time seems to get closer. His dad not talking to him. Failing. The company. Not having any friends. Not making good weapons.

“No!” He says “God, J, I’m _fine._ ”

Jarvis looks at him, because he knows when he’s lying, but like everyone else he never quite knows what to do about it.

 

 

 

Tony sits in his mother’s day room.

“College,” she says, smiling brightly, and today she’s wearing make-up, she’s done her hair all coiffed and curled, and she’s wearing a bright yellow dress with heels. “Imagine that. Off to college, my boy. You know, you’ll be the first Carbonell to actually graduate college, Tony.” His mother says, sipping daintily from her cup. “My brother had to drop out, God rest his soul.”

She makes the sign of the cross, which means it’s one of _those_ days where his mom has decided that religion is the path to redemption.

“Hmm,” Tony says, staring out the window. He knows it’s rude but he also knows his mom won’t notice.

“So clever, too. I can barely believe it. Fifteen and off to college.”

“Yeah,” Tony says, because his mom is running out of material.

“Are you excited?” She says, setting down her cup.

Tony knows that smile. It’s the same smile she uses for her guests at her parties.

“I guess.”

“Good, good.” She says briskly “That’s good.”

There’s a pause, because the conversation has run dry.

“And, what will you be studying?” His mother seems to pick up.

“Engineering.”

“Wonderful, just like your father.” She says, vaguely, sipping more bitter liquid. “Drink up, Tony.”

Tony does, and tastes that the mint tea is laced with something alcoholic.

“Did Jarvis tell you who would be supervising you?”

“I’ve met him.”

“That’s nice. Did you like him?”

“Yeah.”

“Good good.” His mother says, smiling brightly, as if she can force the happiness into Tony’s lungs with a yellow dress and rictus grins.

“How’s your stomach, mom?” Tony says, playing with the tassels on the armrest.

“Oh, Tony,” his mother sighs “not good,” she says “not good at all. Such a thoughtful boy, for asking.”

His mom is going through the motions. Hello, please, thank you, goodbye and good day.

“Do the doctors know what it is yet?”

His mother shakes her head. “Oh, this and that,” she says “bless you, for asking.”

His mom doesn’t talk Italian anymore. The language that he managed to pick up bits of while listening to her yabber at servants and guests and shouting at his father and she no longer speaks it.

“As long as it’s not giving you too much trouble.”

“Oh, Anthony,” she says, hand ghosting over her stomach “so thoughtful. Such a thoughtful young man.”

 

 

The day Tony flies the nest it’s raining, which makes a change, because Tony’s life so far has been a string of sunny days and dark goodbyes.

Now, though, it’s pouring, and Tony has to say his goodbyes inside the main hall while the chauffeur waits outside.

“Please, Tony.” Jarvis says “Please, be careful. Don’t — Dwight will make sure you don’t go off the rails. but please, please please, just be careful.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Jarvis,” he says, drawing out the syllables “I’ll be _fine._ ”

He won’t.

His mother is wrapped in a dressing gown, hair a mess, and Tony is touched that she actually got out of bed for him because clearly it’s one of those days.

“Here,” she says “it’s from your father. He said, he says he’s sorry he can’t be here and that he’s very busy and that he thinks you’ll be needing this,” she hands him a thin, heavy package. “Something about fighting bureaucracy.” She gives Tony that not-an-actual-smile. “You boys.” She says, as if he and his dad are great pals and he hasn’t been ignoring him for the past year.

But Tony accepts it anyway, because his dad doesn’t give him presents, ever. 

(He still has the check he gave him, the one he promised not to use, tucked inside his wallet)

He kisses his mom on each cheek, and then he hugs Jarvis. It’s a proper hug, one that Tony will only ever share with him, or maybe Ty. But with Jarvis, there’s that warm feeling that he doesn’t get with anyone else. Security, safety. Love, on a bone-deep level. Unconditional.

“Please be safe, Tony,” and when Jarvis draws back, there are things in his eyes, things that Tony won’t understand till he’s older, but things that Jarvis knows about fifteen year old boys with alcoholic parents and a need for physical contact.

“If I had the choice,” Jarvis says “you would not be going.”

Tony shrugs. “I’ll see you at Thanksgiving?”

Jarvis relents, and Tony runs to the open car. His mom and J wait in the doorway, lit by the light of the house.

Tony doesn’t wave when the car drives away.

Inside the package in a thin pocket flask. Heavy, thick. Stainless steel, or some other kind of perfectly polished metal. A screw cap at the top.

Initials carved into bottom right corner. _HAS._

A note:

_Don’t let the bastards get you down, Tony._

Tony thinks about Harwell. He thinks about Ty, about Whit. About the churning anxiety in his chest. About the future. About his mom, about his dad. He thinks about Jarvis, how tired he looked.

Tony fills the flask from the pure vodka at the bar in the car and christens his new life with a drink.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part three coming up next aww yiss


	23. Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYYY PART THREE

The drag of smoke against Tony’s throat is heady, sharp. Acrid wouldn’t be the right word, because he’s been smoking for a while now, and the feel of it has muted into something comfortable, something to be depended upon.

It’s February, 1988, and Tony is seventeen.

He ditched his supervisor, Dwight, long ago. Bribed him with some of the extortionate allowance he gets once a month payed into his account and sent him packing. What Maria and Howard don’t know won’t hurt them, and Tony doesn’t think it would hurt them even if they did.

It might hurt Jarvis, if he bothered responding to his letters. 

Or his calls.

Tony doesn’t blame him, you know, he probably wouldn’t stay in touch with himself either. It’s not like he needs him. He just, it would be nice to catch up once in while. He doesn’t care. One letter every few months is cool. Tony’s not complaining.

He stands there, for a while, just inhaling, breathing slowly. His loft is large, spacious, airy, just how he likes it. Wooden floorboards and large bay windows, sunlight that streams down the open floor in the morning and wakes him up from where he usually lies on a mattress he’s tugged into the living area.

That is, of course, if he’s come home at all.

His actual bed lies untouched except from when he brings guests round.

Now, though, he stubs the rest of his cigarette out on the marble counter of the kitchen and stretches. It’s a Saturday, a whole day to just do whatever he likes, and he yawns. 

Maybe he should go back to bed. He was up late last night.

Instead, he pours himself some more coffee and drinks, looking over the plans for the new line of Stark guns that Howard has sent through.

Howard doesn’t do much of his own designing these days. He was taken to hospital with a liver that had more holes in it than swiss cheese, or something like that. Severe deterioration, Tony doesn’t know. Point being, he hasn’t got long left and he knows it. Tony has been designing the basis for these weapons since he was sixteen, then sending them through to R&D, who eventually send them back because they’re all a lazy bunch of shits who can’t figure out a trigger from an off-switch.

It’s no trouble, really. Tony bets that Howard is grateful he let him take engineering now, huh.

Tony got a letter through from the doctor the other day explaining that Howard is suffering from the early stages of Alzheimers. He’s dying, his liver is giving up, and his mind is wasting down to nothing.

Tony, deep, deep down, tries to dredge up some sympathy. It’s difficult, but he manages it in an intellectual sense. When someone’s father is on their knees, the normal reaction is to help, and that is what Tony will do. 

Even if his father is the opposite of grateful.

Jarvis says that it’s best not to tell him because that’ll speed up the symptoms. He says it’s not even that bad, yet. Just the early stages. It can takes years before someone really starts to deteriorate. Jarvis says that chances are he’ll conk out before it even becomes a massive problem.

So he can still function, day to day, but designing weapons of mass destruction is out and Tony is in.

Tony wonders if it’s too early to start drinking. He looks at the clock: 09:36. Probably, then.

It’s a Saturday. He should call Ty, see how he’s doing. He could go out with the cute freshman from his theoretical maths class. He could work on DUM-E. Or he could do the actual work he is supposed to do.

Instead, he calls some of the guys from the tennis club he went to once before quitting, but not before he’s made some acquaintances that he could now safely call friends.

It’s easy, really. Tony’s discovered that making friends is not difficult. In fact, it’s the opposite of difficult. Maybe because he’s rich, or he’s filled out a bit in the past three years, Tony doesn’t know. His friends here are good, they’re fun, and most of them are genuinely nice guys. Quite a few are on scholarship. But they don’t match up to Ty and Whit.

He hasn’t seen them in a while, even though he still calls regularly. Rather, Ty calls about once a week and when Tony inevitably misses it he will call back.

Tony lights another cigarette and kneads his eyes with his hands, the smoke making them water. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. Everything is great, everything in fine. Everything is _better_ than awesome, so why can’t he get out of bed in the mornings?

Maybe he needs a break, a holiday or something. Ty is always saying the three of them should go abroad, somewhere hot, the Mediterranean, maybe. Crystal clear beaches and white sand. Martinis. That sounds nice, kinda.

Maybe it’s because Howard’s sick. Maybe it’s affecting him more than he thinks. Maybe it’s because Maria doesn’t leave the house anymore. Maybe it’s because Jarvis won’t return his letters. 

It could be because he’s been making weapons since he was sixteen. Does that have a psychological impact? Tony doesn’t know. They do kill people, he is, in effect, killing people. It doesn’t bother him, really, so he doesn’t think that’s it. Rather, it’s probably the stress of having to meet deadlines.

Yeah, that must be it. He must be stressed out. He should sleep more, maybe skip a few more parties. Tony snorts. Yeah right.

He’s snapped out of his daze by his doorbell. His doorbell, and then someone banging on his door.

Jesus Christ, it’s a Saturday morning, who could that even _be?_

Tony drags another deep breath of nicotine and pads down to the entrance of his loft. He waits at the door for a few moments until the beating starts up again, and then fixes a grin on his face around the cigarette stuck between his lips.

He swings the door open so the man narrowly avoids knocking his face. “Did you know,” he pouts “it’s not polite to knock on someone’s door that loudly.”

The man is tall, taller than Tony. Dark skin, dark eyes, dark hair cropped close to his head. A long nose, long face, everything about him is _long,_ sturdy, dependable. He already has laugh lines around his eyes though he can’t be older than twenty. And he’s staring at Tony with a mix of confusion and anger.

“This isn’t Michelle’s, is it?” He says, and Tony recognises the twangs of New York in his speech.

“No,” Tony says, companionably “not the last time I checked,” he looks around “unless I’m missing something.”

The man groans, leans against the doorframe and hangs his head. “Fuck, fuck I knew I got the wrong building.”

“Easy mistake to make, really.” Tony says, amiably although it’s not, really, not in Boston.

“Could I,” the man raises his head, and Tony sees where his eyes are bloodshot “could I get a drink?”

“…That depends.”

“Water.” The man clarifies. “I meant water.”

Tony shrugs and holds the door open while Mr No-Name follows him through. “Long night?” He asks over his shoulder.

The man shrugs. “Michelle, man.”

Tony grins around his cigarette. “Girl trouble?”

“The worst.”

Tony hums in sympathy and hands him a tall glass which he drinks quickly.

“She leave you?” He asks, leaning back against the counter. The man sighs. 

“Something like that. I fucked up. Probably, I fucked up. I can’t… necessarily remember. I was drunk.”

Tony winces. “You have any idea?”

The man looks up. “Think I might of asked her to marry me.”

“Traditionally not a good idea when both parties are still in college.” Tony eyes the man. “You _are_ still in college, right?”

He nods. “Air force ROTC. Scholarship.”

Tony whistles. “That’s harsh.”

“I couldn’t afford better.”

Tony smiles even though it’s not like he knows much about that. 

“What about you?” The man asks, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

“Uh, engineering. Electrical engineering, some software, just,” he waves a hand “stuff.”

The man looks at him. “You're taking engineering at MIT, man,” he looks at him pointedly “that’s not just _stuff.”_

“Yeah, well,” Tony yawns “what you gonna do about it? I had two options, I picked engineering.”

“What was the second?”

Tony snorts. “Business.”

The man blinks. “You’re rich, aren’t you?”

“My dad is.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Probably.”

“Try me.”

Tony pauses. “You ever heard of Stark Industries?”

The man’s eyebrows lift off his head. “Stark Industries? You mean, the guys that make my weapons?”

“That would be us. That would be me, actually.”

“You’re Howard Stark’s _son?”_  

“The one and only.” Tony makes a face. “I hope.”

The man stares at him. “You’re bullshitting me.”

“I’m really not.” Tony says, poking around his mouth with his tongue to find the remains of his dinner. Which reminds him he hasn’t had breakfast.

“ _You. You’re —_ it’s Anthony, right?”

Tony raises his eyes in surprise. Was this guy some kind of Stark groupie?

“Tony, actually. Only my mom calls me that.”

“Tony,” the man says, as if trying the name out on his tongue. He holds out his hand to shake. “I’m James.”

Tony takes it. “Nice to meet you James…”

“Rhodes.”

“Nice to meet you James Rhodes.” He says, with stunning formality. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to make breakfast, because,” he looks at the clock “it’s nearly ten 0’clock.” He opens his cupboard. “D’you want some?”

“Do you make weapons?”

“Not for breakfast.”

That actually gets a laugh out of him, and Tony grins when he drags his cereal up onto the tables surface. “Want some or what?”

James considers. “Yeah, go on.” He decides, pulling his chair closer to the table.

“So ROTC, huh?” Tony says, grabbing milk from the fridge.

James shrugs. “Like I said, scholarship.”

“If you’re clever enough for that, you’re clever enough for something less… strenuous.”

“I want to be a pilot.” James say firmly. “Always wanted to. My old man flew during the war. Not that it was acknowledged.” He adds, pointedly, ducking his head.

Tony takes in James’ dark, chocolate skin. Yeah, he can see why that might have been a problem for the big men back then.

James shovels cereal into his mouth and Tony leans back against the counter, pours milk into the box, and eats with his hand, thoughtful.

James swallows. “Your breakfast is leaking.”

Tony shrugs. “It does that every morning and I always seem surprised.”

“What about you?” James asks, shovelling more cereal into his mouth. “Why you here? You look, hey, you look _young._ ”

Tony winces. “I’ll be eighteen in…” he thinks “May. What month is it? February? Yeah, three months, so.”

“Shouldn’t you be at school?” James says, and he squints his eyes and stares at Tony, suddenly disapproving, like a conservative older brother.

Tony snorts. “I can build weapons, but God forbid I skip class.”

“Doesn’t seem healthy,” James shrugs “these crazy child genius types who grow up too quickly and end up touched in the head.”

“To be honest, I’m probably already touched somewhere up there,” Tony says, crunching “but don’t worry. When your brain works like this school is a bit slow.”

“I can imagine,” James says, staring at him. “Geniuses are supposed to be insane, anyway. All of them, without fail. Bet you can’t name me a happy genius.”

Tony swallows. “Bullshit,” he says, frowning “there are…”

He thinks. He _knows_ there have got to be happy geniuses out there somewhere. For some reason, Sylvia Plath comes to mind. Didn’t she stick her head in an oven?

“Right,” he says, slowly “well, I know there are some out there. But I don’t know them.”

“Exactly,” James shrugs “who wants to hear about a happy genius? Where’s the fun in that? “

 

 

 

After Tony brings up the subject of Michelle, James promptly dissolves into tears, leaving Tony with the awkward role of comforter.

He ends up staying for the rest of the day, which is weird, because they just met, but Tony realises that they get on pretty well. James is funny, he likes a laugh, he’s clever, and he’s easygoing. It’s easy to sit in silence with him and not feel… awkward.

Later, Tony’s friends from the tennis club end up coming, and James stays for that as well. They bring beer, lots and lots of beer.

They all get completely piss drunk, and Tony doesn’t even know how they get onto the subject. He thinks they might of been talking about home, because this one guy, Rakim, who’s a friend of this other guy and Tony’s never met before, starts talking.

He speaks in fits and bursts, and he’s obviously not a native. He has dark skin, tanned, an olive colour, and he uses his hands to gesticulate wildly as he talks. He has a heavy accent, though Tony wouldn’t be able to place it.

He says he’s a muslim, which explains why he refuses to drink.

“Is that,” Tony blinks heavily, lost under a daze of alcohol “is this okay for you? Sorry, wouldn’t’a, wouldn’t drink if I’d known.”

Rakim shrugged. “When in America, do as Americans do.”

Tony had laughed and it had gotten some appreciative whoops from the rest of the white, blonde boys sitting around his table.

“What you doing this far from home?” James asks, sipping quietly.

Rakim sighs. “I come for an education. My father tell me that American schools are the best schools. I get the best education I can, and I go home a big man.”

Another boy, one that Tony actually likes, Harold, nods his head. “That’s the kind of ethic we need in this country.” He says.

Harold is a die-hard republican, but he’s not a bad guy. So he likes his guns too much and is one of the biggest psuedo-intellectuals Tony’s ever met, still. He takes criticism well, and unlike many of the other boys around the table, is open to new ideas.

“US is giving the Mujahideen rockets the get rid of the Soviets, so they pay for me to come here. If I go back home now, I may be killed.”

There’s silence around the room. 

For the boys sitting around the table, war is foreign concept. It occurs to Tony that he’s probably designed a few of the stinger missiles that are being used to shoot down the communists.

“But I want to go home,” Rakim continues “I pray for the US to be strong, and I pray that the Soviets are removed, that that I can go home.”

“Home.” Tony repeats, because he’s never had one.

“My father is an educated man,” Rakim says “he tells me to come to America, and he tells me, he tells me to ‘assimilate’. He says that even if I never come home again, I’ll have a better life out here than back home.”

“But you still want to go?” Someone asks.

“Yes,” Rakim says, and there is a fire in his eyes “I get the best education I can, and I go home. And then I can build. I can propel Afghanistan into something new. Better.”

Tony feels incredibly inadequate. This boy can’t be more than a few years older than him and he’s talking about changing the world. Doing something worthwhile. Tony is talking about making weapons.

James nods. “It’s a good goal.”

Rakim inclines his head, as if to say thank you, and then fades back into to the lull of the conversation while someone else takes his place.

But what he says sticks with Tony. Rakim wants to change the world. Tony, probably, has that choice too. After all, he is the one supplying the weapons to remove the Russians from his country.

With a jolt, he realises what he’s doing. And he realises the real-world applications for what he does. His weapons are saving lives. Stark Industries is _protecting_ people. For the first time, Tony feels something stir inside him, some kind of heavy emotion, or decision, because if he can do anything, surely he can protect?

Maybe it’s because he was always so scared, when he was younger. Maybe it’s because he hates bullies. What was it his dad said? Peace is about having a bigger stick than the other guy.

Maybe he was right.

Thirteen years later, Tony stands on a stage and pledges his weapons to the War on Terror. He remembers Rakim, briefly, and then throws him from his mind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story literally writes itself because there's just so much to get through. I think Tony's had a bit of an attitude change here, but I really need some feedback on how you think he's coming across and it would reaalllly be appreciated!!
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!


	24. Chapter 24

“Which is why you should come home.”

Tony frowns, balancing the phone between his head and shoulder and playing with the cord. “Jarvis—”

“Tony, please. I don’t know how long— your father is resilient. But it could be any day.”

“Is there no, like, early warning system?”

“Tony!” Jarvis chides.

“Sorry, sorry,” Tony mumbles. “What I _mean,_ is isn’t it supposed to be gradual? Surely you’ll know when he’s about to blow.”

“Tony, your father is still up and about. That’s not the point. He can drop dead at any moment. Did you know, yesterday he went out golfing with the Roxxon president and blew _$462,718_ on a rented yacht and booze?”

Tony winces. That is not the kind of behaviour old men should be conducting themselves with. Then again, he’s dying. Let him indulge himself.

“Good for him.”

“God, Tony, you’re worse than your father. Listen. You need to come home, just for a week, and then if you never come back — ” Tony can practically see Jarvis throw his hands in the air down the line “ — then so be it. I’m not stopping you.”

Tony does not want to see his father. He does not want to see his mother.

He says goodbye to Jarvis, and puts down the phone. He deliberates on whether to go see Rhodey or maybe go get a drink from the local bar. Instead, he finds himself drawn down to the basement that Howard rents out for him to do his work.

He was hard pressed to get this room. Or, more like a floor. At first, Howard refused to pay anything other than fees, leaving Maria to sigh and dip into her own pocket to feed her only son. He had sent letters, begging for a workspace of his own. He built DUM-E the summer after his first year in one of Howard’s old workshops in New York. It wasn’t till he won awards that Howard relented and started paying rent for a workplace that Tony could call home.

Tony knows that it shouldn’t feel like charity, because they’re his parents. Parents are supposed to pay for their kids college, if they can afford it, which his really, really can.

It’s another notch, though, in Tony’s list of injustice. Tony spent years, _years,_ trying to get his father to like him. Or even look at him. He spent _decades_ trying to understand why his mother didn’t love him. He’s not a baby, he knows he’s privileged. He has better things to do than go whine that his parents didn’t hug him enough when he was younger. But, privately, he allows himself to be angry. There’s nothing wrong with a healthy dose of anger and resentment.

He remembers how he would huddle in his bed with fear when he heard Howard’s footsteps down the corridor. Slow, thumping. How he would hear the chink of bottles falling from his hand. How he would pray, pray, pray, that the sounds did not stop in front of his door.

The malicious side of him thinks there’s nothing wrong with a bit of fear for his old man. Let him be scared. God knows, Tony was. The balanced part of him is just neutral to the whole thing.

He sets to work on DUM-E, who, by the way, is a complete disaster. Disaster isn’t the right word, he’s _embarrassing._ When Tony had first built him, he’d nearly hung his head in shame because the stupid bag of bolts can’t do anything right. He was _supposed_ to be commercially viable: imagine all the engineers who could benefit from having a personal helper bot to do all the work for them.

It wasn’t soon till Tony realised that DUM-E would never, ever, be commercially viable. Ever. Not unless engineers wanted to feel like their feet were crushed by ten-tonne bricks when he rolled over their toes or like they have an over-zealous puppy looking over their shoulders.

DUM-E is one of a kind and he needs constant updating.

Updating is something that Tony, despite the fact that he hates the stupid bot, is always willing to do.

 

 

 

Stark mansion hasn’t changed.

Still cold.

Still empty.

It’s Tony’s birthday soon. He wonders if they’ve remembered.

In his pocket, he has the flask Howard gave him, stocked up.

Usually when Tony arrives, there is at least one person there to greet him. Normally Jarvis, but still.

This time, the whole place is empty. Not a single cleaner, or chef, or butler.

Tony frowns, and dumps his bag in the centre of the hall.

“Hello?” He calls, looking up at the balconies on either side of the massive centre stairs. “Anyone home?”

Silence, and Tony sees dust float in the air where light from the window at the top of the stairs paints the floor with gold.

He curses, because he’s tired. Fuck, the least someone could’ve done is told him where he’s supposed to be sleeping, since he hasn’t stayed in his room since he was six.

He hears a shuffling coming from the balcony and looks up to see his mother carefully opening a door, then closing it quietly. She’s dressed in a pink cotton dressing gown, nightdress, and slippers. Her hair is grey. Not a single trace of chocolate remains.

“Mom?” He calls up, softly, and she jumps anyway.

“Who is it?” She says, voice tense “Jarvis!” She calls “Jarvis, we have a visitor. Who let him in?”

Jarvis doesn’t appear and Tony hangs his head. “I used my keys, mom.” He says, tiredly.

His mother blinks, rounding down the stairs, one hand tight on the bannister and the other clutching her dressing gown tight. “Tony?” She asks, squinting “Anthony?”

“Unless you know someone else called Tony who calls you mom.” He grumbles, crossing his arms.

“Oh,” she sighs in relief “oh, thank God. I thought you were someone else.”

“Imagine that.” Tony deadpans.

“We’re not having visitors,” she says, drawing the gown tight around herself “because your father’s sick.” She adds.

“Sure.” Tony says, easily. He keeps himself affable, smiling, even though he wants to tear at his hair and shake some sense into his mother.

Maria peers closer. “Have you… you look taller.”

“That’s because I am.”

Maria frowns. “What, when did you get so tall? My God.”

Tony isn’t tall at all, really. What he thinks Maria means is that the last time he saw her he was a good bit shorter. 

It’s been awhile. Tony doesn’t like coming home.

He realises that he is taller than his mother now. Was she always so small? It hadn’t felt that way when he watched her, skirts swirling, or when he had been pressed against her side on the way to church. It hadn’t felt that way when, on those rare occasions, she had picked him up in strong arms and hitched him on her hip.

He softens. “Where’s Jarvis, mom?”

Maria laughs, or tries to. “He’s, where is he ever, Tony, down in the kitchen.”

Tony thanks her and leaves. They have nothing else to say, now.

 

 

 

“Is he eating?” Tony says, sipping at his coke.

Jarvis sighs. “It’s hit and miss. Your father’s stubborn, Tony.”

Tony makes a noise of agreement and swipes his head with the back of his hand. “How’s he sleeping?”

“Same as usual. He’s not. If anything, actually, he’s sleeping more.”

Tony winces. He’s not sure that’s a good thing.

“And how about you?” Tony asks “How are _you_ doing?”

Jarvis smiles a wobbly smile. He folds his hands neatly in front of him. “I’m fine, Tony. Busy, as usual. But fine.”

He’s lying. His hands shake. His hair is white. Thin. There are wrinkles on his once youthful skin. He looks older than his age.

He keeps coughing. A dry cough, not awful, but persistent. Irritating.

Tony lets his eyes cloud with concern. “You should go to a doctor.”

“I’m _fine.”_ Jarvis says again, maybe too forcefully.

Tony stares at him. “Sure,” he says, finally. “Okay.”

Jarvis relents. “How’s school, Tony?”

He shrugs. “Fine. Interesting. I’m thinking about staying on, doing a masters.”

Jarvis smiles. “You like it that much?”

“Not really. I just don’t want to be bored.”

“No,” Jarvis agrees “no, you don’t.”

 

 

 

Tony knocks on his father’s door. There’s a grunt from somewhere inside, and Tony rolls his eyes.

He swings open the door and slides though, repressing the urge to wrinkle his nose. His father’s study used to be yellow, sunlight used to stream through and paint the floorboards in gold. Now, it’s musty, the curtains are shut against the sun, and dust hangs thick in the air.

Howard is sitting behind his desk, slumped. He’s puffing on a cigar, one hand clutching his drink, and he narrows his eyes when Tony enters.

“You.” He slurs, and then downs the drink in one.

“Me.” Tony finishes, taking the seat opposite Howard and crossing his legs, feigning interest in his surroundings.

Howard swipes the back of his hand across his mouth. “You’re taller.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Howard snorts, and he hangs his glass upside down and shakes it. He frowns. “I’m finished.” He says.

“Here,” Tony leans across the desk and pulls out his own stash, tips a little into his father’s glass. It’s strong stuff.

Howard sips. “Hmm,” he says, and his eyes close “hmm, you have good taste, Tony.”

“Great.” He replies, voice lacklustre. “You should probably stop.”

“What’sa point?” Howard says, trying to shrug but only managing to lift one shoulder. “Jus’ gonna die anyway. If the withdrawal doesn’t kill me.”

Tony breathes out from behind his teeth, clenches his hands on the armrests. He doesn’t want to have to talk about this. Who wants to talk about their parent’s imminent death?

“I’m so glad you’re aware of the severity, _dad.”_ Tony says shortly. “I wouldn’t want it to be lost on you.”

“Lost on me?” Howard snorts. “I’ve known this day was coming for years.”

_That’s pathetic,_ Tony thinks.

“No shit.” He raises an eyebrow. “Most humans do actually die, eventually, no doubt you thought maybe you’d get lucky?” Tony looks at the glass in Howard’s hand. “You never thought about doing something about it, maybe?”

He shrugs. “I’ve lasted long enough.”

“You could’ve lasted longer.”

“I’m dying, Tony.” Howard snaps. “Have some goddamn respect.”

Tony feels, for a moment, that instinctual flare of panic that Howard brings. He feels the need to look away, look down, get out of his father’s gaze. But he’s not like that anymore. Instead, he forces an insolent smirk onto his face.

“Not my fault, really.”

Howard stills. “You’re insufferable.”

“Says you.”

“Why are you here, Tony?” Howard says, slumping, voice suddenly exhausted “Have you come to gloat? Is this about the college thing? Are you still pissed at me?” Howard’s eye shut, and then flicker open again. “I’m dying. Maybe you just go easy on me and then you can dance on my grave all you like.”

Tony feels sorry, momentarily. Howard’s right, he’s sick and hasn’t got long left. Is now really the time to air his grievances?

Tony is very, very angry with his father.

“Don’t worry. I don’t dance.”

Howard lumbers to his feet. “You’re a little shit.”

“I don’t know where I get it from.” Tony yawns.

Howard stares down at him. He’s fat, now, or at least overweight. His beard is unkempt, his hair greasy. He still has a thick crop, which is good, Tony reckons, because he doesn’t want to lose all his hair by fifty.

But his face is lined, thick and tired. His dark eyes have been swallowed by drooping flesh.

He looks strong. He still looks strong, despite it all.

Tony stares back.

What was that thing Ty was talking about? About how all men want to kill their fathers and marry their mothers? Tony thinks briefly about Maria, and then Whit, and pushes it from his head.

He wants Howard to punch him. Wants him to beat him down. Because at least then he’ll have a reason to hate him, one that’s not pathetic.

Howard’s eyes narrow. “You’re turning into your mother.”

Tony quirks his lips. “I hope not. That’ll take some explaining, really.”

“You think you have an answer for everything.”

“No,” Tony states “I know I do.”

Howard’s hand tightens on his empty bottle. Could this be it? Could this be what they’ve been dancing around all these years? A bottle and a firm whack to Tony’s skull?

Howard’s hand loosens, and the tension crackles down. He grins.

“You’re tougher than I remember, Tony. What happened?”

Now Tony looks away. Just like that, his father gets him to back down. There’s something in that comment, _you were weak,_ you _are_ weak, that jars him enough to look away. He feels his neck burning even though he knows it doesn’t show on his skin.

He laughs. Howard always makes him angry enough to push over the edge.

It’s so much easier to just be cutting. To be cruel. Make sure he can break the wave of disapproval and hatred coming from his father’s mouth before it washes over his head.

“I don’t know,” Tony says lazily “maybe you’re just a bit more fragile now, dad.” Tony squints, bends forward in his chair so he’s leaning over the desk.

He cocks his head. Breathes. “How’s the old brain working, dad? ‘Bit slow, isn’t it?”

His father stares at him.

Tony leans back, smirks. “No,” Tony says “that’s right.”

“Get out.”

Tony shrugs, pushes back his chair and stands.

“Get _out.”_ Howard says, and he’s not even looking at him, his eyes are fixed on some point beyond Tony’s head.

Tony walks away. “I said _get out!”_ Howard screams, and the bottle smashed against the wall next to Tony’s head.

Howard’s done that before, Tony remembers vaguely. It had made him sick with fear, once. 

He gently closes the door behind him. Waits. Breathes.

And then his legs begin to tremble. _Fuck,_ he thinks _fuck, don’t fuck it up now._

He needs to walk. He needs privacy, he can’t let them see him like this. His legs are wobbling and his head is spinning, he feels like he’s coming down from some crazy trip, the adrenalin rush is insane. Had he been that tense? He can barely remember. What had even happened?

He stumbles his way though the house until he finds his mother’s garden, until he finds his trees. He slumps there, let’s his head rest against the trunk, fights the urge to laugh and cry and shake and just breathes.

 

 

 

Tony decides to leave early. And by early, he means later that day.

Jarvis doesn’t judge him.

“Keep in touch.” Tony says, and he hopes he doesn’t sound needy. “It’s nice to hear from you, you know, sometimes.”

Jarvis looks guilty. “I know. I know, I’ve been busy, Tony. But I promise: I’ll keep in touch.”

Tony smiles as Jarvis ducks his face to cough into a tissue.

(He hides the blood that spatters there)

“Will you be coming back?” Jarvis smiles serenely.

Tony shields his eyes from the sun, staring up at the looming shadow of his childhood home.

“Yeah.” He says “I don’t think I can avoid it, actually.”

And it’s true. Tony does go home again, many times. But it’s the last thing he’ll ever to say to Jarvis.

He smiles, and the old man hugs him. Tells him to study, and not to get too caught up.

He tells him not to worry. It’ll be okay.

 He never sees Jarvis again. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY
> 
> Thoughts?


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for depression. Not that Tony knows that, but still. If it's a trigger, please be careful.

When Tony gets back to Boston, he gets a call from Ty.

“You, me, Whit,” he says “we’re going to LA for summer. Don’t argue, hear me out, I haven’t seen you in _years —_ ”

“A few months, really.”

“Almost a year, don’t try to bullshit me. Whit is missing you.”

Yeah. 

“I’m missing her, too.”

“Great, then you can come with us.”

Tony winces. “Ty, I don’t know. My dad’s,” Tony rubs his eyes and sighs “my old man’s not well, Ty.”

“Oh really? Damn, well I can see how you’d want to waste a summer on him, seeing as you’re really close and all.”

“Funny. But it’s serious, he’s dying.”

There’s a brief pause down the line. “That bad, huh?”

“His liver’s got more holes than swiss cheese or something.” Tony rubs a hand down his face. “Could go any minute. I don’t know how long I have left to—”

“Tony,” Ty says softly “Anty, I thought we agreed to forget them?”

“They’re my parents, Ty,” Tony half-protests quietly “and I’m not you. I don’t know how to just cut people out.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You know what I mean.” Tony says weakly.

“Yeah, well I never cut you out, did I? C’mon, Anty. We’re graduating. For old times sake.”

Tony considers. “Could we — no. No, I’m sorry I can’t.”

“Anty!” 

Tony wants to. Of course he fucking wants to. But it’s just one summer. One summer, and then he can forget them. One summer to try and make it right.

He hears Ty’s voice down the line. “Yeah, no, he doesn’t want to come.” He’s saying to someone. “I don’t know, his parents or some shit. That’s what I told him! I know, hold on. Tony,” Ty readdresses “c’mon.”

“Is Whit there?” He says distractedly.

“Yeah she’s here, actually — here, take the phone — she has something to say to you.”

“Whit?”

“Hi, Anty.” She says in that voice, which has gotten a little deeper in the year they’ve been apart but keeps it’s singing rhythm. “How’s school?”

Tony tilts back his head and lays back on the couch, swinging the cord round his finger. “Fiiine.” He draws out, grinning.

“Lot’s of pretty girls?”

Tony’s an old hat at this, now. “No one’s prettier than you Whit and you fucking know it.”

(That being said, a lot of girls have come close)

Whitney giggles, a sound that only Tony is capable of eliciting. 

“You’re a man-whore and _you_ fucking know it.”

“That’s actually not a very fair observation,” Tony waggles his eyebrows “I mean, for all you know I could be wasting away with the thought of you and you have the _nerve_ to sit there and insinuate —”

“Insinuate my ass, you’ve been banging every girl you’ve layed eyes on and you know it.”

“I actually haven’t.” And it’s the truth, partly, sure there’ve been a few, but he does honestly like Whitney.

It doesn’t feel right, not knowing where they stand. Tony doesn’t know what she wants. One second she’s all over him, the next she’s giving him a free pass. Maybe she’s into that sort of thing?

“I have some news that I’m sure you’re gonna love.” She says, and Tony sits up a bit straighter.

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah, definitely. I got into Harvard, so.”

Tony blinks. “No fucking way.”

“Yes fucking way. I’m taking law, I know, right? Shocking. But I thought, you know, we’ll both be in Boston—”

“That’s amazing!” Tony laughs, and he runs a hand through his hair. “Holy shit, why didn’t you say? How long’ve you known?”

“A month? It was gonna be a surprise, you know, I was just gonna turn up on your doorstep, but then Ty said you didn’t want to come to LA—”

“I can’t.” Tony sighs, “You know I can’t.”

“I think you can, you just won’t. Self-flagellation, Tony, you ever heard of it?”

“I am aware of the concept, yes.”

“You’re doing it. Right now. Denying yourself fun again because you’re beating yourself up again. Seriously, stop. It’s irritating.”

“Oh my bad.” Tony says mildly.

“Yes, you’re bad.” Whitney says, exasperated. “How long are you gonna let this go on for? Tony I’ve seen it before, your parents sent you away do you spend hours writing those letters, your dad wants you to do business and when you do what _you_ want to do you spend hours freaking out, you force yourself home as if that will make it any better —”

“Is that the time?” Tony says, looking lazily at his watchless wrist. “Damn, I have, I better get going. Got class in, like, five minutes, wow, I’m so forgetful.”

“It’s Sunday.”

“Is it?” Tony asks. “Damn, I really do need to get my memory checked.”

“Tony, don’t be a dick. Are you coming or not because we want to get tickets for—”

“You’re, crrkk, I can’t hear, chrsskle, breaking up, talk,” Tony crumples the magazine by the phone “later, love you crrkshkle, see you —”

He hangs up, and rubs his eyes.

 

 

 

Tony doesn’t go home that summer.

He doesn’t go to Ty’s, either, although he makes plans to see them for New Year and Whit’s in New York. Her parents are going down to Long Island, so they’ll have the place to themselves.

But Tony spends that summer in a listless doze. Somedays he gets up and then just climbs back into bed. He stops going out. Rhodey knocks on his door once, twice, three times and more and Tony ignores him.

He doesn’t know what’s wrong, exactly. He just can’t be _bothered._

He’s running on a nocturnal schedule. He wakes up at 10pm every night and allows himself a drink to get him going. And then he works on DUM-E, or watches TV. Sometimes, he’ll read a book. Mostly, he lies in bed, and traces his fingers over the dirty sheets.

No one calls, except Rhodey, Ty, and Whit.

Jarvis hasn’t written in ages. He won’t return his calls.

Tony really, really wants to talk to Jarvis right now.

He needs him.

He doesn’t know what’s wrong.

 

 

 

One day, Tony jars himself out of bed.

He washes his hair, his face, and puts on clothes. 

He opens his windows for the first time in months and lets the stifling heat that’s hung in his loft evaporate under fresh light and a cool breeze.

He stands there for a while, taking in sun like an addict takes in a dose of heroin after a year of sobriety.

He scrounges for some clean clothes and finds something acceptable. Then, he shove sunglasses on his face. He smiles in the mirror, just to get a feel for it, and it’s been so long that the muscles shake when he stretches them over his face.

Eh, it’ll do.

He walks around the centre of town for while, unsure of what to do. Everyone here seems to have a purpose, students going to summer school courses, men, and women in heels marching to work. Tony feels at a limb, like he’s not part of that world at all.

He feels like an outsider, looking in on reality.

He wanders into a few stores. He has a _lot_ of money on him. He could probably buy everything in here and the actual building itself. It doesn’t mean anything to him, though. What does it matter? What do any of these things _mean_ to him?

Oh God, what’s _wrong?_ What’s wrong with him?

The space around him floats, too bright, too open. He suddenly longs for the safety of his loft. Why did he come out today? Why did he think that would be a good idea?

He shoves his hands into his pockets. He should go, he needs to go. This place is massive, which way did he come in? Are people staring? Fuck, they are. They’re wondering why there’s some guy where sunglasses indoors and just _standing_ in the middle of a department store.

He ducks his head and just chooses a direction. It’s fine, just walk, you’ll find an exit. You don’t have to ask anyone.

“Excuse me?” Says an attendant, a girl. “Can I help you at all? Is there anything you want in particular today?”

Tony nearly stumbles back. “N-no,” he manages “n-n-no, I’m f-fine, th-thanks, thanks.”

He sees the pity in her eyes and sets off at a sharper pace.

When he manages to get outside he buys himself a water from a vendor and sucks deep. He punctuates it with sips from his flask, and leans against a wall behind a store.

Okay. Okay, what is he here for? What could he need?

He sees an ad showing state of the art gym equipment, and sighs in relief.

 

 

 

It’s probably the start of Tony’s history of ridiculous, impulsive buys. Not that he knows that.

He sets up the gym equipment in the spare bedroom and then just leaves it there because he’s a fucking idiot who wasted money on expensive shit he’s never going to use.

It’s not until a couple of days later he realises that he has nothing else to do and that, hey, he could probably do with putting on a bit of weight.

So, he starts up his diet regime. He is, apparently, underweight. He decides he doesn’t want to be, anymore. He starts buying in burgers, pizzas, steaks. He learns how to make actual salad. He spends a good two hours a day working out.

In the morning, and in the evenings, he goes jogging. It gets him out of bed.

The fresh air helps.

By August, Tony is seeing a difference. When he weighs himself, he learns he’s put on _nine pounds._

He feels it in the way his stomach has tightened, in the way he can lift his own work without his limbs shaking.

It feels _good._ He feels like he’s in _control._

After three months of silence, Tony finally calls Rhodey in September.

“Where the fuck where you?” Rhodey asks.

“Home, man. I had some family stuff.”

Rhodey winces, and Tony puts him off enough that he doesn’t ask anymore. Instead, he asks how Rhodey’s been.

“I got a new girl, man. I think she could be the one.”

Tony rolls his eyes. This will be the second ‘one’ since Tony’s known Rhodey.

He throws himself into his final year. Everything is fine.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a bit of trouble with Tony's downward spiral. It doesn't really kick off until later chapters, and the worst of it will be condensed into one, but still.


	26. Chapter 26

Tony levers himself below the car, wrench in hand. It’s been leaking oil because it’s a hunk of crap and his dad isn’t going to get him a better one anytime soon.

“It’s character building.” Howard had said, but Tony reckons he’s hoping he’ll lose control and kill himself.

It’s hot. It’s way too hot for September. Not that Tony’s complaining, because he hates the cold. In this weather, he can almost imagine he’s back in Cali with his friends, if you ignore the distinct lack of rushing waves and crickets.

The stereo by his feet is blasting music as loud as it can go and Tony’s just trying to block everything out until he can fix this lump of crap.

Except then the music switches off and he’s dragged out from under the car without preamble.

Kidnap. That’s Tony’s first thought. Fuck, I’m being kidnapped.

He’s 100% sure that the door was locked. 

He gives a garbled shout and kicks out with his feet, catching something soft, and hearing a subtle crunch.

And then someone is crying out.

“Aww, fuck,” Whitney says, tilting back her head “fuck, what is _wrong_ with you, oh God.”

Tony blinks. “Whitney?”

“Ma’ ‘mose.” She says, blood dripping down her lips and over her neck. “You ‘ucking idiot.”

“Shit.” Tony says, spurred into action. “Shit, why would you—”

“‘Urprise!” She says.

“Time and a place!” Tony snaps “How did you get in, here,” he pushes Whitney’s head back and presses tissues under her nose.

She pushes him away. “You gave me keys.”

Tony blinks. “I did?”

Whitney rolls her eyes. “Yes, idiot.”

“When?”

“Last summer.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I lied. You didn’t give to me, I stole them.”

Tony smiles “Of course you did.”

She snorts, eyes crinkling, and they sit in companionable silence.

“There,” Tony says, softly, gently drawing the tissues from her nose. “You probably should have warned me.”

She rubs a hand over her skin and tries to clear away the blood, licking her lips. “I tried. You know it’s not healthy to listen to music that loud?”

Tony smirks. “You don’t think anything’s healthy.”

“No,” she says, tilting her head, and Tony realises she’s not staring at his face. “Have you been —”

“Working out a little, yeah. Skinny wasn’t a good look.”

“For you, maybe.”

Tony tucks a stray piece of hair behind Whitney’s ear. Small things like that, he’s learned, make her feel a lot better. It makes her softer, being touched in that way.

“You look…” She tilts her head and frowns. “Have you gotten taller?”

“How short was I before that this is considered an improvement?”

Whitney laughs, soft. Her hand skims his belly, under his vest.

“Firm.” She notes.

“I lied, I’ve been working out a lot.”

“It’s a very nice look on you.”

“Thank you.” 

Tony lets a smile play over his lips. He hasn’t seen Whitney in a year, but it’s still shocking how easily they fall back together.

“Maybe we could…” She cocks her head to the side, playful. “We should go upstairs.”

Tony leans closer. Whitney’s breath is ghosting over his lips, down his neck. He hasn’t seen her in so long.

“Upstairs.” He agrees.

 

 

 

After, they’re lying in bed.

Tony doesn’t use this room often. Or at least, he did over the summer, but not anymore. Usually, he sleeps on a mattress he’s dragged into his workshop.

When Tony had been sleeping here, he’d kept the curtains firmly shut. Now, though, they’re thrown open, and the setting sun is streaming through the large arched windows.

It’s nice, breathing in the smell of another person. Of feeling Whitney’s hair against his lips, tickling his chest.

“Where are you living?” He says quietly, twisting his fingers through her hair.

“On campus. I’m just gonna, you know. Get to know people, get a feel for the whole thing.”

Tony hums in understanding. He’s exhausted. He could easily sleep for a week, but it’s nice to be with Whit.

He reaches around for the bedside cabinet where he keeps his smokes. “You want one?” He says, offering the pack to Whit, cigarette in mouth.

She makes a face. “I’m good.”

Tony lights up and inhales deeply. Exhales.

Whitney traces the new found lines of muscle under his belly.

“How’s Ty?” Tony asks, rubbing his head with the back of the hand in which he holds his smoke.

Whit sighs. “Do we have to talk about Ty? Could we go, like, twenty-four hours without talking about him?”

Tony blinks. “Sure?” Whitney’s response had been more vehement than he expected.

“Sorry,” she says “that sounded bad. I mean, I’ve spent the past three years with him, remember? I want to talk about _you.”_

“Me.” Tony says, exhaling.

“Yes, you.” Whitney says, and she turns, hair falling to one side and sheet slipping down to her waist. She rests her arm on his chest and presses her chin on her hand. “What are _you_ doing? How’s school? How’re your parents?”

That’s the thing about Whit. Ty wouldn’t want to know about Tony’s parents. He cares, but in a way that he thinks he knows what’s best. He, as a rule, and despite never having met him, despises Howard Stark.

He could tell Whit. He could tell Whit that somedays he can’t get out of bed.

She would probably understand.

Tony sighs. “I’m gonna do a post-grad.”

“Oh,” Whitney says, surprised, but her features stretch into a smile. “At MIT?”

“At MIT.”

“So we’ll be together?”

“Definitely.”

Whitney presses kisses over Tony’s chin while he closes his eyes and allows sleep to come.

 

 

 

Whitney stays the night and leaves the next morning. She gives Tony her knew number, kisses him, and then ends up staying a little while longer while Tony goes down on her.

After _that,_ she actually leaves, but not before confirming that they were in fact dating now.

“This is a thing, right?” She says “You’re gonna jump off with the next pretty girl you see?”

“Your lack of faith in me is astounding.”

“I mean it, Tony. I can’t — I mean, I won’t be with someone who doesn’t. Who wouldn’t—”

“Whitney,” Tony says softly, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I swear on my life that I will not sleep, or touch, or even _look_ at another girl while we’re together.”

Whitney had smiled.

(Another girl, Tony remembers later as Ty wraps his fingers in his hair and presses his tongue in his mouth. Another _girl)_

 

 

 

He and Whit spend the rest of fall together. It’s weird, having someone… close, as in, _really_ close, but nice, too. Tony could get used to it, the idea of being someone’s favourite person.

One night, after Tony’s finished his paper and Whitney’s sucked him off, they’re lying on Tony’s couch.

“My dad called the other day.” She says, briefly.

“Oh yeah?” Tony says, putting his feet on the table.

“Yeah. I mean, my real dad.”

Tony takes his feet off of the table. “Oh.”

“It’s not ‘oh’,” Whit says, mildly irritated “you don’t need to act like it’s a big deal.”

“Well,” Tony makes a face “it kinda is, Whit. You know what he does—”

“It wasn’t about that.” She says quickly. “It was more, you know. He said congratulations on getting to Harvard.”

“Does Byron know?”

Whitney’s adopted father dotes on her and she knows it. Her mother had, too, until she had sadly passed away a few years back. Whitney had been torn up, but she’d always seemed closer to her dad.

The look on her face tells Tony he doesn’t.

“Whit,” he says softly “c’mon, Whit. Don’t do that to him.”

“Don’t talk decency with me, Tony.”

“Why not?” Tony shoots back. “Someone needs to. That’s shitty, Whit, you know where your father comes from, you know what he does. You’re not a kid anymore.”

“Exactly,” she says succinctly, pulling out from under Tony’s arm. “I can make my own decisions.”

“Well, you can’t, actually.” 

“Oh okay, so I’m only a child when it suits you —”

Tony rolls his eyes. “You’re older than me, Whit, so you can stop acting like I’m being a dick, okay? I’m not saying this ‘cause I don’t think you should talk to your father, I’m saying it because it’s a shitty thing for your _dad_ to have to go through, since he took you out of that shithole and raised you—”

“I don’t owe him that.” Whitney says “I don’t _owe_ my dad for raising me, or loving me. That’s what parents are supposed to do. I’m not _you,_ Tony.”

Tony blinks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Whitney continues. “I’m interested, okay? I’m allowed to, I want to know about my family, where I came from. There’s nothing wrong with that—”

“You know where you came from, and you know about your family, GiGi. You remember, don’t you, you’ve told me before, I know you remember bits of it—”

“Shut up!” Whitney says, pushing away. “Don’t use that against me, you can’t use that against me—”

“I’m not using anything against you,” Tony twists in the chair, speaks softly, tries to calm her down “Whit, please, I’m worried. I know what you want, and it’s okay, it’s _natural,_ but you need to tell your dad. You know why? Honestly? Because you could get talking to your father and next thing you know you’re going to meet him and then you disappear and no one knows where you’ve gone. And don’t act like I’m being unreasonable, Whit, okay? I get parents, I get all that shit. But your dad is there to protect you, and if you disappeared with a man who, who _hurt_ you when you were a kid, betrayed all those years of love and, and school and time or whatever, that’s fucked up. That’s real cold.” Tony takes her hand, pulls her close. 

“Especially since,” he says, pointedly “we know what we know about what your ‘father’ does.”

“I wouldn’t do that.” She says, and her voice is thin, reedy. “I just want to meet him.”

Tony rubs a hand over his face. “Please, please don’t do anything yet, okay? Please. At least, not without me.”

Whitney laughs, although she’s sombre, and her eyes are glistening. “I never do anything stupid without you.”

“This is true.” Tony smiles, and he quickly wipes a tear from Whitney’s cheek.

She needs help, Tony thinks. Maybe it’s because they had that year apart, maybe it’s because Tony’s older, maybe he knows more about the world. Maybe it’s because he’s come to recognise that broken, scared look in people’s eyes because he’s looked into his mother’s and he’s seen into Howard’s.

He knows what Whitney’s father did to her, and he’s not so forgiving. He knows, now, that it can cause problems in the future.

For a second, he looks at his girlfriend, and he’s completely overwhelmed. Her problems, her very real problems, are completely out of touch with his. He doesn’t know if she’s even _aware —_

He doesn’t know how to help her.

He wants to help her.

He will.

Or, he was going to. Then Christmas happened, and everything goes to hell.

 


	27. Christmas 1988

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for violence. Uh, mainly, you know, father against son violence. It's christmas, and it's the Starks, so.
> 
> Sorry

He agrees to meet Whitney at her place for New Years. Ty’ll be there as well, and he’s bringing his new girlfriend, which will be… fun.

Why shouldn’t he. Tony’s bringing his. It’ll be fine. Interesting.

He kisses Whit goodbye after she drives him to the airport. 

Tony is dreading going home.

It’s not just his parents; Jarvis isn’t talking to him either.

Which… which makes him feel really shitty, actually. He doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. Maybe he found out he was smoking? Maybe he’s giving him the silent treatment?

It could be that he’s just really busy. Howard’s ill, Maria only leaves the house for her charity galas — it must be hard work, entertaining both of them know they stay home all the time.

Whatever.

 

 

 

Except when Tony gets to the airport, he nearly has a heart attack.

He was going to take a taxi. He had told them he was going to take a taxi, that’s what he always does, he didn’t even give it any _thought,_ he’d just rung forward and told his parents he was coming and —

Howard is waiting for him.

He should tell him the plane was delayed. Fuck, he’ll say it was delayed, and that—

Except knowing Howard he’d probably check and then Tony’d be in for it.

Not that it matters. He’s already seen him.

If possible, he’s actually gotten _fatter._ Tony’s surprised he even made it this far without falling over and not getting back up. He shouldn’t be out, Tony thinks, he looks like he should be in bed. Can he even go this long without drinking? Probably not. God, he’s probably drunk right now. Brilliant, Tony’s going to have to ride for an hour with a drunk.

He slings his bag over his shoulder and his dad points in recognition. Tony forces a smile.

“Dad,” he laughs nervously “what are you doing up and about?”

It’s different, out here. Tony can’t be brave out here. Too many people watching.

Howard smiles and pats him on the back, which solves the awkward ‘should we hug’ problem. The last time Tony saw him he’d thrown a bottle at his head and narrowly missed. There’s no chance of that now.

“Can’t a man pick his son up from the airport?”

No.

“Well, sure, but I thought you were sick.”

Howard waves a hand and begins to move. “Nah. I’m fine. The doctors just like to scare me, Tony. I’ve got a good while left, I reckon.”

He looks it. He’s not exactly wasting away.

Tony should say something to that. He’s getting good at this, small talk, he can talk his way through most things, but something about Howard throws him off.

He seems to have forgotten everything Tony said the last time they talked, which included Tony not-so subtly referencing his encroaching senility and, if the doctors are to be believed, Alzheimers.

Tony follows him out into the sunlight and snow. He’s parked in the drop off only zone, and Tony’s not sure if it’s pure arrogance or confusion. He doesn’t know what worries him more.

“Here,” Howard says, throwing him the keys “Merry Christmas.”

Tony blinks, holding his bag in one hand and the keys in the other. 

“Are you serious?”

“Sure. It’s your present. It’s not actually on the market for another couple of months, but still — you’re eighteen now, right? Seems old enough you get a proper car.”

Proper car, yeah. This is, this is something else, a Ferrari, top of the range. Tony’s been reading about it for _months,_ it’s like a wet fucking dream. Cars are his guilty pleasure, always have been, it’s easy engineering for him but always so much fun and is this his or is it some kind of fucked up practical joke?

“Are you —”

Howard rolls his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure, I’m not joking, I’m not lying, get in the car. Your faith in me is appalling — wait, you drive.”

Tony slides into the drivers seat, hand clenching against the leather of the wheel. It has that new car smell, everything about it is _perfect._

Which scares him. The last thing Howard gave him was a flask for alcohol.

Why is he getting this now?

Is it… Christ, this isn’t because he’s dying, is it? This isn’t some last ditch attempt to have a relationship with him, right? Tony doesn’t know if he can deal with that.

Howard chuckles. “Wait till you see how fast it moves.”

“What’s the MPH?” Tony says, dazed.

“Why don’t you find out?”

The car comes to life under his hands. Tony feels the firm vibrations running under his skin and tingling his bones.

“It generally works better if you put your foot on the pedal.” Howard says dryly, checking the rearview mirror.

“If I crash it isn’t my fault.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

This is surreal. This is completely surreal, and for a moment Tony is angry that his dad had to do this now. He’d just managed to reconcile himself to the idea that Howard wants nothing to do with him, and now he does this shit. When Tony was a kid, he would have _killed_ for his dad to to something like this. He used to daydream about it. Now, it leaves him feeling bitter.

Which isn’t to say there isn’t a fair bit of hero worship thrown in, too.

For a moment, Tony thinks his father’s fallen asleep, because he’s tilted back his head and shut his eyes. But they open again, soon enough.

“How’s school?” He asks, and Tony thinks of the best thing to say.

“Good, I guess. Not, you know. Difficult.”

Howard grins. “Figures. You’re pretty smart.”

Tony nearly looses control of the wheel. “Right.”

Howard frowns. “What? Don’t you like the car?”

Tony clears his throat. “Love the car. Great car. What’s the occasion?” He asks, innocently.

“Christmas.” Howard says shortly. “Drive.”

 

 

 

Apparently his dad has reached his maximum point of small talk because he then actually does fall asleep, leaving Tony to think.

He got him a _car._ His dad, his own father, Howard Stark, had bought him a _present,_ and an expensive, thoughtful present.

Why.

Maybe his parents are splitting up? More likely he’s trying to soften him up for something.

Post-grad studies. He doesn’t want Tony taking post-grad studies, that must be it. He probably wants him taking some off the books job at SI, getting a feel for the place. Howard built the business with his bare hands, _he_ didn’t stay for rich boy extra studies or a doctorate. And he wants Tony to do the same.

He seethes, inwardly, because a small part of him feels like he owes it. Because of this amazing, beautiful, cherry-red car.

Next to him, his father snorts in his sleep.

He’ll talk to Jarvis about it. He’ll know what to do, at least. He knows he’s busy, and he knows he said he would try and keep in touch and hasn’t, but still, he’s always been there when Tony needed him.

 

 

 

The house is empty. No one’s bothered to even put up a tree.

Three days, he tells himself. Three days, and on the 26th, he’s out of here, down to Whit’s in his new sports car, with _Ty,_ and they’ll be able to relax, drink, bring 1989 in with style.

Howard’s made it clear that he’s going for a siesta and that he’s not to be disturbed, which is funny, because what does Tony have to say to his father anyway. He’s grateful, at least this way there’s not more awkward bonding.

He dumps his bag in the guest room and showers, changes. Then, he heads down to the kitchen to grab a bite. Or maybe get Jarvis to make him something, because he’s been living on his own for four years and he still hasn’t learnt how to cook.

He’s not _angry_ at J for not responding to his letters. He knows he’s busy and Tony’s not a kid anymore. But it doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss him. Despite years spent away from home at school and at college, nothing has ever been able to beat the taste of Jarvis’ home cooking.

“J?” He calls, pushing open the heavy doors to the kitchen. “You down here?”

There’s a man slicing carrots, but it’s not Jarvis.

“Uh,” Tony says, blinking.

The man looks up. “Ah,” he says “you must be Tony.” He wipes his hands on his apron and offers one to shake. “You can call me John.” He’s got salt and pepper hair and everything else about him is completely forgettable.

“Are you here to cook dinner or something?” Maybe Maria got a new chef in for Christmas.

The man looks at him confusedly. “Yes? I cook, I clean, I sort things out. It was all in the job description.”

Tony stares. “What job description?”

“For the opening at Stark mansion. Butler, general busy-man for Howard Stark. It’s worth the pay, let me tell you —”

“What happened to Jarvis?” Tony blurts, ice creeping into his chest.

“Who?” The man asks, cocking his head.

“The, the butler. The old one, tall, blonde, where is he?”

The man shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tony’s feels the floor drop out from under him, because now it all makes sense. The lack of letters, the car, his dad, everything, oh God, oh God, please no —

“Hey, are you okay? Do you want something to drink? Here, sit—”

Tony turns and slams out the door. No, he needs to calm down, he needs to ignore the mounting panic, it could be fine, it could be, this guy’s new so he might not know Jarvis, so Tony races up the stairs, takes the well-worn pattern to Jarvis’ room because he could do it blindfolded and he opens the door —

and the whole room is empty, covered in white sheets.

Not a single trace of him remains.

Not fair. Not fair, this isn’t fair, why would Jarvis leave, where would he go, oh God _please_ maybe he’s retired or something, this doesn’t have to be bad, oh God, everything has gone, everything, Tony rushes to the bookshelf where he knows, _he knows,_ Jarvis kept his books, where he kept the stories he would read to Tony, and they’re all gone too.

He can’t even smell him, that smell, the one that used to hold him when he cried, when he scraped his knee, when he had a nightmare. Tony spent _days_ in this room, drawing, reading, he built his first circuit board here with Jarvis kissing his fingers when he cut them on sharp bits of metal and drying his tears when his dad didn’t come down to see.

He remembers padding along at night, terrified, after he’d wet the bed and not knowing what to do, because if his dad saw him he’d hit him, and his mom would scrunch her nose and tell him to go away, but Jarvis would always hold him and ask what was wrong and he never told on him, ever, and no one else, not one other person in this house ever cared, they wouldn’t have noticed if he’d died, but Jarvis was there to buy him clothes and make him food and give him baths and everything that a parent should do but his never did.

Tony wants to cry, he can feel tears stinging his eyes and he sucks in a deep breath, rubs at face until his eyes feel like they’re being pressed into his skull. Not fair, not fair, not fair, Jarvis is gone and he didn’t tell him where and his _parents,_ if they can be called that, if they were _ever_ worthy of that name, didn’t bother to tell him, either it slipped their mind or didn’t seem important, and why would it, why would it seem important to them that the only man who ever loved Tony, who ever cared for him and told him he was worth it, the only person who ever bothered to show him how loved he was, has gone why would that be _important to them!_

Tony kicks out, foot crashing into a dresser, and he smashes his fists into the top until he can keep himself from screaming. Bastards, fucking pathetic little bastards, his parents didn’t bother telling him, they didn’t think he was _important,_ Jarvis _or_ Tony, and it didn’t occur to them that Tony might have loved him, they didn’t think that Tony might have loved Jarvis like a father because he’s never had a real one, and the hatred Tony feels is real and evil and if he were handed, and he swears to God, if were handed a gun right now with two bullets he would pump both of them into his parent’s skulls, no remorse.

The rage that Tony feels…

He doesn’t feel his feet moving and he only partially knows where he’s going. His dad doesn’t want to be disturbed? No of course he fucking doesn’t, of course not, because he got rid of Tony’s best friend and he fucking knows it, the _spineless,_ arrogant, pathetic little man doesn’t want to face his only son because he’s scared he’s made him angry, well he’ll fucking show him, he’ll fucking show him _angry—_

“Tony?” Maria says, head curling round the door. “Tony, you’re home —”

“Get out the way.” He growls, and he pushes her into the wall, knocks his own mother to the side because she’s in on this too, she’s complicit, she wouldn’t have been the one to give the order, and she probably would have been able to send Tony a nicely worded message about how Jarvis had to go away, but she didn’t. He could forgive her, maybe, because Howard can be scary, but right now he doesn’t want to hear it.

“Tony,” she says, scampering to follow him “Tony, don’t disturb your father, he’s not well —”

“Don’t _touch me.”_ He orders, wrenching his arm free where she tries to tug him back. “None of you fucking _touch me —_ ”

“Is this about Jarvis? Is this about him? Tony, Tony, sweetie, honey, _bambino,_ come on, sit down and we’ll talk, I’ll tell you what happened, just be reasonable —”

He spins.

“ _REASONABLE?”_ He screams “ _You want me to be reasonable!”_

She stands there, blinking, where Tony’s spittle has caught in tendrils of hair and her hand is raised, so still, where she had meant to stroke his head.

“Too fucking late.” Tony cuts out, back turned and moving down the corridor. 

He doesn’t knock on his Howard’s door, he just slices it open.

“Where is he?” He growls, descending on the man in his chair “Where the fuck is, what did you do, did you send him away? Is he _dead?_ Did you not think to fucking _tell me_ you _animal—”_

“What is this?” Howard stands “Maria, what is this, the boy’s lost his mind.”

Tony gives a screech of rage and lunges at his father, desperate to knock the answer out of him. “ _WHERE IS HE? WHERE IS HE YOU BASTARD, WHERE DID HE GO—_ “

Maria is tugging on his waist, pulling him back even as Tony’s arms pinwheel in an attempt to hit Howard down.

“Tony,” she tries to soothe “baby, it’s me, it’s mommy, please calm down—”

“I said _get off me!”_ He pushes her back, disentangles their limbs, and she falls onto a chair, leg catching and collapsing on the couch.

“Tony,” Howard says, and he’s holding up his hands in front of him, trying to calm a rabid animal, but he’s slurring, one eye twitching with stupor “hey, c’mon boy, calm down, calm down. We can talk, let’s talk, it’ll be,” he burps “it’s fine.”

Tony sees a wash of red in front of his vision. It’s a rage so hot and so palpable he thinks he’s losing his mind.

“You stupid fucking drunk old man,” he spits “where is he, where is _Jarvis,_ you little bitch you didn’t tell me, why didn’t you call me, is he dead? Is he gone? Where the fuck is he you bastard —”

“Don’t,” Howard frowns, listing to the side “don’t talk t’me like that, y’little shit. H’ve some, have some respect, I’m your _father—”_

“No, you’re not,” Tony says, voice high pitched, head shaking from side to side “I don’t know what you are, I don’t know what you think you are, but I think you’re a monster, you’re the opposite of what a father is, you sent him away, didn’t you? You sent Jarvis away, why, he what did he do to you? Is he dead? Is J dead, please,” a small sob crackles from his lips “oh please tell me he’s not dead.”

Howard blinks. “S’not dead.”

Tony pants. He slouches, collapsing, hands digging into his eyes. “Oh thank God,” he breathes “oh thank God.”

“Tony,” his mother says “sit here, come on now, we can talk about this like mature adults.”

Tony sits and lets his mother run fingers through his hair like Jarvis used to do.

“Did you think,” he says, dragging his face up “that I wouldn’t _notice?_ That I wouldn’t _care?_ That I would be so distracted with my shiny new —”

“It wasn’t my fault.” Howard says, and that’s what tips Tony over, because is anything _ever_ Howard’s fault? Ever? My son hates me, he’s ungrateful, my wife despises me, she’s insane, I’m an alcoholic, life is just too difficult, I never got help, I’m too well known, the company is in ruins, I’m not a good businessman, on and on and on will this pathetic excuse for a man ever stand up for something he’s done?

“He was your friend,” Tony says quietly “he was your best friend. More than that, and you know it. And you’ve kicked him out.” 

He stands.

“Why?” He asks “Why would you do that? What did you do that? Did he says something to you? Did he tell you the truth? Something you didn’t want to hear?”

Tony gets closer as Howard stares at him, empty eyed and cold.

“He was like a _father_ to me,” Tony says, finger pointing to his chest, voice shaking “he was like— he was everything that you are _not,_ understand? And I loved him. More than you —” he says, pointing, vehement, and then back at his mother “ — and more than her. And you didn’t have the decency to even _call._ To even _tell me._ To let me say _goodbye—”_

Tony’s voice breaks but he refuses to cry in front of these strangers.

“He didn’t leave a number or address.”

“No,” Tony straightens “I’ll bet he didn’t.”

“You’re acting like a child.”

“Well, it’s about time really, isn’t it?” Tony squeezes his eyes shuts tight, flexes, and opens them again. “He was your best friend. He was, possibly, your only friend. You sit here talking shit about Obie and the you make fun of everyone else even though you are _exactly the same_ as them if not worse and you had one true friend in the world, one person, just _one,_ who you could trust because obviously, your family wasn’t enough for you.” 

Tony wipes his hand over his mouth, and continues. “One fucking person, and he loved you, he fucking loved you like a _brother,_ more than that and _you know it,_ and you’ve _kicked him out and you didn’t let me say goodbye!”_

“You don’t know anything,” Howard says, eye narrowing, bloodshot, spittle flying “you don’t know shit, you’re just a kid, you couldn’t begin to understand — ”

“No!” Tony laughs “No, I couldn’t, could I? I can make weapons, and I can leave home at fifteen, I can smoke I can drive I can drink and I can fuck but God forbid my father explains to me something that matters, God forbid he talks to me at all you sociopathic asshole — ”

“ _Do not talk to me like that, boy!”_ And they’re both squaring off, it’s been a long time coming but it’s finally here “Do not _talk_ to me like that, you have no idea, you have no fucking clue what life’s like, Tony, what I have to do and why I do it, and you don’t know _why_ I sent him away — ”

“Boo fucking hoo! Go cry to someone else, I can’t believe you, you think the rest of us don’t have problems, you think their aren’t millions of people across the world who hate themselves just as much as you do? Newsflash, dad, they get help, they don’t ignore their families and they don’t — ”

“NO IDEA! _YOU HAVE NO IDEA! You stupid little shit,_ what would you know — ”

“I know you’re a fucking coward and I know you’re pathetic, that’s what I kn—”

The bottle smashes into the side of his head, even though he never sees it coming.

Distantly, he hears his mother scream, and he feels his father’s hands on his shirt, shaking him, as glass crackles out of his hair and onto the floor.

“Howard stop!” His mother cries but Tony barely hears it because he’s been hit in the head with a decanter and it’s _broken,_ the momentum and the, force, force is meaning he has a head injury.

His father pulls free and he stands, or he thinks he does. When he takes a step back, the whole world spins, and it’s bigger than he thought because he stumbles.

He frowns, and it tugs at his skin, causing pain to flare up across the left side of his face. He raises a hand and gingerly touches it to his head.

It comes away bloody, with bits of glass scraping at his fingers.

He blinks.

There’s a big fuzzy shadow where his left eye should be and he sees the blurry shape of his dad hovering over him. He’s leaning, slightly, hands fluttering by his face as if he wants to touch but can’t.

His mom is screaming, distantly, beating at his dad with her fists.

Jarvis will —

Jarvis is gone.

When did Tony end up on the floor? He tries moving back but his angle’s all off and he bumps back into a couch. He moans.

He can’t hear from his ear. He tries running his fingers past it but there’s not a single sound. It’s scary. His eye is — is it swollen already? Must be, because everything from that eye is just a blur.

Tony places his palms on the ground and pushes up, lurching to his feet.

Suddenly, in a rush, reality comes back to him.

Everything is loud and sharp, even though he’s half deaf and half blind and there’s glass stuck in his face and his head — the place where the edge of the crystal decanter struck him — is bleeding steadily, a deep cut on the side of his head.

“Tony,” his dad is saying “sit down, _sit down._ ”

Tony grunts, slapping away the hands that come for him, or trying to. He doesn’t actually feel any skin against his so he might have missed his mark.

He’s got to go. He’s got to go. He can’t stay in the house with —

He’s in the corridor, and he’s slumped but no one’s following him. What happened, why —

He stumbles, getting his bearings, and it’s not so bad now that the initial shock has passed. Just, get to the car. Get to the car and get to Whit and Ty. They’ll understand and they might help with the pain in his head.

He has trouble with the steps down to the driveway. One at a time, one at a time, step, wait, step, wait.

His feet crunch over gravel.

He’s sitting in the car.

He’s sitting in the car.

He’s sitting in the car.

He opens his eyes and it’s dark out.

Things are clearer; the world isn’t spinning as much. Foot on the pedal, careful, careful, c’mon Tony, you could do this in your sleep.

He’s freezing and there are tears rolling down his cheeks.

Or at least, his cheek, because his other eye is swollen shut.

He checks himself in the mirror briefly and tries not to panic. He can see where the bottle broke over his head, slicing into the side of his scalp. But it had also impacted with the side of his face, because the whole thing is engorged, completely swollen, and he can’t hear anything from his ear.

There’s blood. It’s not worth thinking about, because it looks like something from a slasher flick. All down his face, his neck, staining his shirt and it’s _still bleeding._ He read somewhere that head wounds look worse than they are, but still.

He doesn’t remember the rest of the drive, but he realises later that it’s a miracle he got there in one piece.

 

 

 

“Coming, coming.” Someone is murmuring behind the solid oak door. Tony shivers, and wraps his arms tighter around his body. The world is starting to list to the side, and everything is fuzzy.

The door opens, and the sudden bright light makes him take a step back, squinting.

“What the fuck.” Says the distinctly male voice. “Who the fuck, what are you _doing?_ Whit, there’s some —“

“Ty,” Tony croaks, and he presses forward, holding out his hands for support, or leverage, or just to touch someone who doesn’t hate him.

Ty blinks. “ _Tony?_ Oh my — WHIT! WHIT! Call 911! Holy shit, get in, what the fuck happened — ”

“No ambulance.” Tony shivers, because he has the presence of mind to know what that would mean. “No ambulance, no hospital.”

“What?” Ty’s face presses close to his “Tony, what are you saying?”

Briefly, he sees Whitney’s form at the top of the stairs, and then a scream.

“I can’t work out what he’s trying to say — Tony, calm down, look at me.”

Tony hasn’t seen Ty in a year and a bit. It’s nice to see his eyes again.

He grits his teeth, “ _No. Hospital.”_

Realisation dawns. “This was your dad, wasn’t it?”

Tony sinks down against Ty’s chest, and there’s blood everywhere. The hands let him slip and he rolls to the floor, blinking up at the lights.

“Shit,” Ty hisses “Whitney, bandages, get, fuck it, get a first aid kit, bring it in here — Tony, Anty, c’mon, c’mon hold here, you’re heavy now, I can’t carry you all the way — ”

Tony lurches, moaning. His head lolls against Ty’s neck. Real, warm, solid.

“He’s got blood all over the carpet, that’ll be fun to explain.” Whitney says, but there’s concern there.

Ty presses him onto the couch. “It’s okay, Anty, you just sit there. Whit, we need a bowl, hot water, cloths, more than one. A tray for the glass, anti-septic, bandages — ” Tony feels fingers prying at the side of his head and hears a wince “ — fuck it, get me a razor too.”

Tony drifts in and out. He feels where his hair, crusted with blood and slick and sticky with it, and then he feels it being shaved from his head. He makes a small noise of protest.

“It’s fine, it’s cool. It looks alternative, you know?” Ty tries to comfort him.

Tony lets his eyes crack open. “What time —”

“About two in the morning.” Whit whispers, stroking his hand. “It’s okay, just don’t sleep.”

“Merry Christmas.” He murmurs.

“Merry Christmas, Tony.” Whitney smiles, stroking the side of his hair that isn’t bloody.

“Let’s have a good one.” Ty punctuates with an anti-septic wipe that causes Tony to tighten his hand of Whitney’s to keep in a scream.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from now on I'm going to be posting once a week every friday


	28. Chapter 28

The rest of that Christmas is a blur.

He spent Christmas day in bed, sleeping, while Ty dutifully wakes him up every forty-five minutes to check he still remembers his name.

Sometimes, Whitney is beside him. Other times, he’s on his own. One time, he wakes up and notices it’s snowing.

“How’s the head?” Ty asks, sloping into the room and climbing onto the bed.

Tony blinks.

“Thought so. Uh, we doped you up a bit. You weren’t making sense, so.”

“Where’s your girlfriend?”

Ty frowns. “What? Oh, Roxanne? Yeah, no, I dumped her. Too clingy. So it’s good.”

Tony falls back asleep, and when he wakes up he’s lying on Ty’s chest.

After Christmas, they call a doctor to make sure everything’s working right. He applauds them on their efforts, and doesn’t ask how it happens. They tell him it was a bar fight anyway.

The doctor leaves more painkiller, real painkillers, not the drugs they were planning to get high on for New Years. He tells them to keep up the good work and feed him light food since the nausea’s gonna get to him.

Tony explains that he can’t hear in one ear and the doctor examines him.

“It’s the shock of the blow,” he shrugs “it should come back, give it a week or two. If it doesn’t…” he tsks “well then I’m afraid there’s not much we can do.”

Tony can’t believe there’s a chance he’s gonna be deaf in one ear because Howard hit him too hard over the head with a bottle. 

Whit and Ty are tactful, at least, as tactful as people like them can be, but Tony can see that Ty is seething inwardly. It’s touching that he cares so much on Tony’s behalf.

“What happened.” He asks, a few days before New Year. “Why did he bottle you? Did you fight? Was it—”

Tony doesn’t want to say. He doesn’t want to talk about it.

Thinking about Jarvis brings this tidal wave of pain and, and _hurt,_ because he’s gone, J’s just _gone,_ and Tony doesn’t know how to bring him back.

But Ty listens anyway. “That’s disgusting,” he says finally. “How could they do that to you?”

“They got me a car.”

“That thing? Tony, that thing’s shot to hell. You must have crashed it, like, a million times on the way here. It’s a miracle you didn’t kill anyone.”

Tony hangs his head. “Christ.”

“Yeah,” Ty says, inching closer “you’re lucky Whit and I were home. We were going to go out.”

Tony dreads to think what would have happened if they did.

“You’re so good to me.” He murmurs. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I just turn up on your door and you don’t even ask questions and you pay for a doctor and wipe my fucking ass. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” Ty says.

(He doesn’t say ‘you don’t need to apologise’, but Tony’s too grateful to be picky) 

“Besides, who else is gonna help your ugly face?”

“Funny.”

“I mean it, have you looked in a mirror? Your face is blue and purple and I had to shave half of your head. Uh, I shaved the other side, too, to make it symmetrical. I swear when it grows back in it’ll look awesome, cropped at the sides and then all,” he makes gestures with his hands “pouffy in the middle. Very hip.”

“You fucking dickhead.” 

Ty always knows what to say to make him feel better.

He laughs. “Tony, I have to ask.”

Tony frowns. “Ask what?”

“Have you been working out?”

Tony frowns. And then he smiles.

“A little, yeah.”

Ty shifts on his perch on the side of the bed, the one hand resting on his knee sliding up, slightly.

Squeezing his thigh.

“It’s a nice look.”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “That’s what Whit said.”

Ty goes cold. Even Tony notices it. “I bet she did.” He says, and stands to leave.

“Wait, Ty,” Tony struggles to push up onto his elbows “hey, where are you — ”

“Out. I’ll send in Whit.”

“Wait, what — ”

“Nothing, Tony. Got to sleep.”

He exits, leaving Tony feeling bereft. He doesn’t know what just happened.

But he can guess. Even he’s not as socially stunted not to realise what’s going on.

Tony is up and about by New Year’s eve. When he examines himself in a mirror, he nearly has a heart attack because if he thought he had looked bad before he doesn’t know what this is supposed to be. Half his face is a mottled blue and purple and black. His eye is still swollen, and there’s still a raisedbump on is head where the bottle struck. And then the cut, which when he peels back bandages he realises is _massive,_ and is definitely going to leave a scar, and Tony feels very, very ugly because on top of that he’s rocking this mohawk look which means he’s not leaving the house without a hat anytime soon.

Tony doesn’t know how to feel about it. That Howard finally kicked in his head like he’s been threatening to since he was a kid.

Strangely euphoric.

Dumb bastard, now Tony has something over him. The wound on Tony’s head isn’t just a scratch and he looks like something from a second-rate halloween film.

Now that the concussions worn off, and then anger has — well, it hasn’t faded, but now that he’s more _rational_ — Tony realises that if he wants to find Jarvis, then Howard’s going to need to tell him what happened. But he has no intention of going back home. 

He isn’t going to step foot in that house ever again.

Except to pick up his stuff. But then he’s never going back.

 

 

 

The gang spend New Years Eve eating ice cream on the balcony of Whit’s bedroom.

Tony’s head hurts, with the bright lights, and it’s freezing, but he doesn’t complain. After the disaster that was Christmas, he doesn’t want to ruin their holiday anymore.

He remembers when he was five, and how Howard and Maria had forgotten to get him presents or just hadn’t bothered. He remembers waking up on Christmas morning so fucking excited and then going to the tree and finding nothing there.

He remembers that Jarvis told him not to cry. He remembers now that Jarvis had been angry, but not at him, and he had taken Tony back up to his room. Tony had realised that he was pissed at his parents, he hadn’t thought much at all except that this was the worst day _ever_ because he didn’t get anything.

A few days later, Jarvis had taken Tony to the toy store and let him pick _whatever_ he liked. The thought now that Jarvis had cared enough to take Tony shopping because his parents didn’t get him anything, the thought that it made Jarvis _angry_ enough to still care days later, makes Tony want to cry.

They get drunk, and then Ty brings out some weed, which Tony’s never smoked before but how much worse than cigarettes can it really be, so he takes some in and relaxes into his chair.

The wind whips round them, tossing Whits hair into his face and ruffling Ty’s golden locks. He’s let it grow out a bit, it looks good longer. It’s nice, the way it curls round his cheekbone, it accentuates his eyes.

Ty’s face is red with the cold. He can blush in a way that Tony and Whit, with their darker skin, can’t quite manage. Not that he does, really. Tony has never seen Ty flustered. But when he’s cold, his skin tinges beautifully.

His lips are pink. Perfectly pink and perfectly shaped. It’s the most feminine thing about him, really. What do they call those lips? A cupid’s bow. Thick, pouting lips on a long face. Ty is so lithe. His muscles aren’t like Tony’s, where they bulge out, they’re so much more subtle. Lanky isn’t a word Tony would use, but he’s tall, taller than Tony, and Tony likes that, he likes it more than he’s willing to admit because he’s small and Whit is even smaller —

Tony hasn’t seen Ty in so long. He’s missed him more than he realised.

Briefly, their eyes meet. There’s something unspoken there. And that’s when Tony remembers Whit’s hand on his arm.

He turns to look at her, and she smiles. Tony kisses her forehead, but he feels Ty’s eyes on him the whole time.

Tony imagines being in bed with Ty. He imagines Ty’s cock in his mouth. He imagines being fucked into.

It feels wrong, it feels so _alien_ and not right, but that doesn’t mean he can’t feel the hot spike of arousal in his belly.

He kisses Whit at midnight and tastes Tiberius Stone’s lips.

 

 

 

Tony and Whit go back to Boston together since Tony’s car isn’t going anywhere for a while. He kinda wants to do it back up, fix it, because he loves doing that, but the thought of it coming from his parents, of his dad buying it, makes him want to throw it in a river.

“I’ll see you,” Ty says, clapping his hand and pulling him in for a hug. “Don’t kill yourself.”

“I would never.” Tony yawns and Ty grins. He’s at Stanford and will be travelling back to Cali this evening. Tony would love to drop him off at the airport, but unfortunately his ride is anxious to leave.

Ty skims his fingers over the bandage still tight on Tony’s head, presses lightly where he knows the wound sits underneath. Tony freezes.

“Wear a hat.” He breathes, and Tony leans into the touch.

Then they’re gone, he and Whit climb into the car and drive away, back to Stark mansion to collect the things Tony dumped and then left.

 

 

 

He rings the doorbell, once, twice, three times, again and again until his mother opens the door.

“Tony,” she says, levelly, and there’s no hint of stupor in her gaze, there’s no empty grins or broken eyes. She looks almost like the Maria he remembers.

“Mom.”

“You’re here for your things?”

“Obviously.”

Maria’s hands flutter up as if to smooth down the cut on Tony’s head. Her eyes slide behind him, to where Whitney waits in the car.

“Who’s that?”

“Girlfriend.”

“You have a girlfriend?”

“I’m nineteen in four months. It seemed about time.” He pauses. “You’ve met before, actually. She came here when I was a kid.” _You promised to take us out for ice cream and then went back to sleep._

“Oh,” Maria says frowning “I don’t remember.”

“I’ll bet you don’t.”

Tony moves to walk past her but she doesn’t shift. “Can I meet her?”

“No.”

His mother lets him pass.

When he comes back down, his mother is still by the door, watching him intently.

“Can I help you?”

“Your head looks awful.”

“Then your husband probably shouldn’t have hit me, should he?”

“He didn’t mean it.”

“Doesn’t feel that way.” Tony steps back out into the sun, bag slung over his shoulder.

“Where’s your car?” Maria asks, following him out. 

“I crashed it. Multiple times. Turns out driving half blind and deaf with a concussion isn’t a great idea.”

His mother blanches. “Half deaf?”

“The bottle busted my ear.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Great.” 

Tony makes to leave. “Here,” his mother blurts, handing him a letter. “It’s from your father.”

“Cool.” Tony says, and he doesn’t say bye.

Back in the car, Whitney is quiet.

“Is that your mom? She murmurs.

“Yeah.”

A pause. “You have her eyes.”

“Let’s go, Whit.”

They drive in silence.

 

 

 

_Tony,_

_I’m sorry for hitting your with the bottle. It was harsh and i was drunk._

_Ed_ _Jarvis isn’t dead. I had to send him away. I would tell you why but he expressly forbid me from telling you._

_He told me to say that it’s best if you don’t get in touch. He says it will be painful for both of you._

_You were right when you said that i need to tell you things. You are nearly 19. There is a lot i need to explain to you tony. I hope discussing these things will allow you to see me in a different light._

_I hope to make an arrangement to speak with you at a later date. Hopefully we will both be in better minds._

_Your mother and I have discussed the possibility of you staying for post-grad studies. We are both emphatically supportive of this idea._

_I hope your face feels better._

_Howard._

 

 

 

The letter makes a few things abundantly clear:

1)Jarvis does not want to see Tony. Jarvis does not want to talk to Tony. Jarvis has scratched Tony out of his life like he never existed. Tony never meant anything to Jarvis.

2)Tony is obviously a shit judge of character. He doesn’t know how to explain how embarrassed he is, because he thought Jarvis _cared,_ he thought he had loved him like a son, and obviously he was wrong. And he had screamed at his parents even though his father knew all along that Jarvis did not want to talk to Tony.

3)Howard Stark is an asshole.

It hurts more than Tony can put into words. The roiling pain in his chest is awful, he feels less than scum, and he doesn’t know how to pull it out, he doesn’t know how to douse the flames, because has anyone ever loved him? Has anyone ever actually cared about him? What is wrong with him, what has he done so badly, to deserve this?

He drinks to stop the burning and it works.

 

 

 

It’s not gradual.

For Tony, there is no slow descent in disintegration. It’s a quick drop off a cliff.

One day, he can’t get out of bed, and decides that a shot is what he needs to kick-start the day.

And after that, it’s awful hard to stop.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll warn at the start of the next chapter but from here on out we've reached Tony at his lowest. It lasts a few chapters and then part four begins.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, warnings for the start of depression and substance abuse.

No one comes to Tony’s graduation and when he crosses the stage there’s only a round of polite applause.

He tells himself he doesn’t care. Whit had school and Ty’s in Cali and it’s not like his parents were going to come.

(There’s something pathetic about no one coming to see you graduate)

Except when it’s over and Tony’s leaving the hall there’s a clap on his shoulder.

“Hey,” says Rhodey “where’d you think you’re going?”

He’s dressed in a graduation gown and cap and when Tony looks over his shoulder he can’t see any family.

“Why—”

“Mom’s step-dad died. You know, _I_ don’t care, but, family’s family. They’ve all flown out to Michigan.”

“Yeesh. Sorry.”

“No worries,” he says, and slings his arm round Tony “means we have time to catch up, right? Where the fuck have you _been?_ I was looking — ”

“It’s been… fucked up.” Tony admits. “Really fucked up. But hey, are you going to Ryan’s tonight? We can — ”

“Actually, you’re coming with me.”

Tony blinks. “I am?”

“Yeah. We’re going to dinner, sorry, no crazy parties for you.”

“Rhodey—”

“Did you know the drinking age is in fact 21?”

Tony seethes. “I was aware, yes.”

“Good. Then we’re going to dinner, and then we’ll go do something else, I don’t know. Probably best not to go to Ryan’s.”

“I was gonna meet up with my girlfriend, actually.”

Rhodey blinks, steering them through the crowds. “You have a _girlfriend?_ ”

“Yes?”

“Bullshit, what’s her name.”

“Whitney.”

“How old is she?”

“19.”

“Hair colour?”

“Black.”

“Eyes?”

“Blue.”

Rhodey squints. “Dress size?”

“Something small. Two, maybe.”

“And you’re sure she’s real.”

“Funny, but yes. We used to go to school together, and now she’s at Harvard.”

“Fuck, she’s smart too? Tony, man, why don’t you tell me this shit?”

Tony sighs and they climb his piece of shit car, no longer such a piece of shit since he had it done up. “I’m sorry. Seriously, I was busy. It’s been…”

“So I’ve heard.”

“You’ve _heard?”_

Rhodey slams the door. “Yeah. People’ve been talking, Tones. You got drunk at Chrissy Martin’s and tried to jump out the window.”

Tony grips the wheel. “Exaggeration. I was going to be fine, based on the, uh, trajectory of the moonand the _sun —”_

“Based on the trajectory of my ass I know you’re making shit up, you were drunk, Tony, and you were nearly dead.”

“And yet here I am.”

“What about Rick’s? I heard —”

“You heard wrong.”

“I heard,” Rhodey continues regardless “that you got up onto the springboard and tried to _dive into the pool_ with no _water_ while high on coke. Or maybe my sources were faulty.”

It’s true, actually. Tony had snorted a line and, contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t suicidal, it had just seemed like a good idea to take a dip and it wasn’t his fault if the pool was empty.

“You’re lucky your aim was off, what did you do, break a rib?”

“Cracked a couple. It’s fine.”

“Could’ve died though.” Rhodey points out.

“Did you come here to piss me off?” Tony snaps “Because I can drop you off if you like, if that’s what you’re here for.”

“I’m just wondering if anyone else is gonna stop you from jumping off a diving board if I don’t.”

Tony looks out the window and doesn’t say anything.

“I’m not trying to be a dick.” Rhodey says, softly. “I like you, Tony. I don’t want you dead by twenty-one.”

 

 

 

They go to an Italian place in the centre of town. It’s actually okay being with Rhodey because there’s no awkward conversation and Tony can appreciate that he’s given up his graduation day to spend it with Tony, which is, you know, really weird but still cool.

“He hit you with a bottle.” Rhodey states, shortly.

Tony sighs, rubbing at the scar. It’s healed over, but it won’t ever fade. You can still see it peeking out from under his hairline.

Tony’s hearing is back, but he’s not sure if he’s imagining the fact that his left side seems to be a little duller. It’s probably psychosomatic.

“Yeah, I know. It hurt like a bitch, but, you know. I’m here.”

“That’s — and then he let you go. He let you drive like that.”

“Howard isn’t good at putting other people’s needs in front of his.”

Rhodey shakes his head, and looks honest to God shocked. “I can’t believe people like that actually exist.”

“What do you mean?”

“People like your parents. Is it a rich person thing to hate your kids?” Rhodey freezes. “I mean, is it a rich person thing to dump them off on other people? I mean — fuck, that was harsh. I’m sorry.”

Tony waves a hand. “Yeah,” he mumbles “no problem.”

“What time are you meeting your girl?” Rhodey side-tracks.

Tony checks his watch. “An hour, maybe? At my place. You can come if you like.”

“What and de-rail your fun? Nah, I’ll get going. But call me, okay? I want to actually _see_ you this summer.”

Tony smiles and waves him off after they split the bill. When he gets home, Whitney’s already on his bed, and she’s only wearing a sheet.

 

 

 

Whitney is going on holiday with her father that summer so Tony is left to his own devices. Ty calls, and pesters him to come to Cali, but Tony doesn’t want to. Or he does, he really, really does, but he doesn’t want to know what would happen. He doesn’t want to think about Ty in the pool, Ty getting out of the shower, Ty stretched out on crisp white sheets, sunshine streaming down on him, tanning his skin and the _curve_ of his ass —

“You’ll be fine, right?” Whitney says, applying lipstick. 

“I don’t know what I’ll do without you.” Tony drawls.

Whit laughs. “It’s not too late to buy a ticket, you know.”

“Whitney,” Tony says “I am _fine._ I’m just gonna relax a bit. Work out some more. Maybe talk things through with Howard. Just, enjoy yourself.”

“I might come back with a new boyfriend,” she pouts “doesn’t that bother you?”

No.

Tony blinks. “Don’t even joke about it.” And it’s the right thing to say, because Whitney kisses him on the cheek, leaving a red-stained print. 

Tony doesn’t wash it off for a while because it makes him feel like he cares.

 

 

 

Tony drinks in the morning to get him out of bed and then he drinks at lunch to keep him happy and then he drinks at night to help him sleep.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

(He doesn’t realises there’s a problem. Nothing in his mind is blaring alarm signals. It won’t be a while till he matches up what he’s doing with his father’s shaking hands and his mother’s empty glare)

Addiction hits Tony like a freight train, knocking him off his feet. After that, it’s drink that’s carried with him at all times, kept in his pocket. He dreads leaving the house without the security blanket of alcohol in his hand.

Partly, it’s because the world has become uninhabitable. His parents don’t love him and he doesn’t love his girlfriend and life is just one step after another and he’s doing these amazing things, everyone is telling him he’s doing amazing things, but none of that matters to him. It’s like a dance he’s learnt off by heart.

He doesn’t love his mother. What kind of human being doesn’t love their mother?

Tony finds it a lot easier to talk to people when he’s drunk. If you’re drunk, no one judges what you say. Or at least, they don’t blame _you_ if you say the wrong thing, because obviously it’s the drink talking. People prefer him drunk.

Tony’s been doing coke regularly at parties since he got home from New York after Christmas. He doesn’t buy it for personal use until that summer, but once he starts, it’s harder to stop than even the drinking.

Not that Tony cares. That’s a problem for another day. He’ll stop after summer. He’ll just do this for the summer for fun and then after he’ll stop. It’s fine.

 

 

 

 

That autumn, Tony is in the workshop when there’s a crash at his door.

He was working on his car and he looks like a pig, sweaty, oil-stained, his thick hair held back by his goggles and welder in hand.

He’s prepared to burn the intruders eyes out, and he would’ve, if Ty hadn’t flung open his arms, bag sliding off his shoulder.

“Anty!” He cries, jubilant, and Tony rushes to switch off the flame, struggling with wires and his goggles.

“What the fuck?” He splutters, nearly tripping over a car battery “What are you — ”

“You were ignoring me.” Ty answers petulantly “So I came to find you.”

Tony blinks. “You _swapped coasts_ because I didn’t pick up my phone?”

“Partially. Also, I’ve dropped out, so.”

“You’ve what.” Tony asks shortly.

“Dropped out,” Ty says, flipping a screwdriver and pocketing it “keep up, Anty.”

He crosses the room and draws him into a hug, their bodies pressed tight together, and Tony lets himself fall into it. Then Ty breaks away. 

“You stink.”

“I’m working.”

“You smell like motor oil and sweat.”

“The sweat being a side effect of working with motor oil.”

Tony turns to slap the car’s bonnet back down and ignores the way he knows Ty is watching him.

(Ignores the way he feels his eyes on the thick, shifting muscles of his back, ignores the way his own skin flushes, how it gleams in the low light of the workshop, the way the hair on the back of his neck prickles and — )

“Where do you keep the food?” Ty asks, slinging his bag over his shoulder “I had a salad at the airport but it tasted like shit.” 

Tony rolls his eyes and shows him up into his loft, suddenly acutely aware of the empty bottles lying haphazardly around the place. Ty raises an eyebrow.

“You been hosting many parties?”

Tony can’t lie. “Not really.”

“Hmph.” Ty says, rummaging through the fridge. “Do you keep anything _fresh_ in here? Goddamn, Tony, this is cheese in a _can,_ why would you even need this?”

Tony shrugs and mimes squirting it into his mouth.

“That’s disgusting, do you have _any_ fruit?”

“I haven’t been shopping this week!” He answers defensively, and part of him is still floating on a cloud because Ty is in his loft? In Boston? How did this even happen?

“You need more fruit,” Ty says, as if he hadn’t heard him “and vegetables. From now on it’s brown bread only and — ”

“Brown bread only?” Tony says incredulously as Ty whirlwinds round his kitchen. “Wait, _from now on —_ ”

“My dad’s furious.” Ty states, seemingly unbothered. “It’s not Christmas of ’88 furious, but pretty close. He’s kicked me out, so.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. So I’ve was just going to maybe move in with you?”

Can Tony even say no?

“It’s not like I’m gonna turn you away.”

“Excellent.” Ty grins, pouring himself cereal. “You gonna give me the grand tour?”

 

 

 

 

“He’s _living_ with you.”

“His dad’s kicked him out, Whit — ”

“Kicked him out?” Whit say raises an eyebrow. “Do you _remember_ Mr Stone? There’s no way he’s kicked him out, Tony, he’s _lying._ ”

Tony blinks. “Why would he do that?”

Whitney scowls at him. “Why does Ty do anything, Tony? Kick him out.”

“ _What?”_ Tony throws up his hands “What? Are you crazy? No, don’t be stupid. You’re wrong, first of all, and secondly he’s my _best friend,_ I’m not gonna — ”

“You haven’t asked me to move in with you.” Whitney points accusingly.

“That’s different.” Tony growls. “Don’t act like it’s the same thing. He’s a guy.”

“Does that even make a difference with you?” Whitney spits “If I came to your door saying _I’d_ been kicked out you wouldn’t let me stay.”

“You’re paranoid.” Tony says “You are literally batshit paranoid, what’s wrong with you? How can you say that, he’s just as much your friend as he is mine—”

“He is _not_ my friend, Tony. Not everyone’s like you, we don’t all love Tiberius Stone.”

Tony blinks. “What? Since when? What are you talking about, you spend summers together and, and Christmases and you were at school together after I left, why do you — ”

“You’re an idiot.” Whitney says, and she wipes a tear from her eye. “You _choose_ not to see it, Tony. You _choose_ him over me.”

“You’re being ridiculous!” Tony shouts “I can’t believe we’re even _having_ this conversation, you’re my girlfriend, you should be supportive whether he’s your friend or not — ”

“Why don’t you listen to _me,_ for once? Why don’t you support me? I don’t want Ty here, why can’t you understand _that?”_

“Because you’re wrong.” Tony says defensively. “You’re being a paranoid bitch, Whit.”

“Oh, fuck off.” She says, lips twisting. “Call me when you want to talk rationally. Or when you kick him out.”

“You’ll be waiting a while then!” Tony calls when she slams the door.

Crazy fucking bitch.

Later, Whitney comes back saying she was wrong, and she’s sorry, and she gives Tony a blow job and he forgets the whole thing.

It occurs to him later that Whitney might be jealous.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> based on the trajectory of the moon and the sun i now realise there's no way this is ever going to be done under 100,000 words lol I've just got to 90,000 and I'm just dealing with the aftermath of Tony's parents death. I'm going to have to skip a lot of Tony's late twenties and thirties and leave it to flashbacks bc after this part we're going straight to pre-im1
> 
> also I have no schedule for updating this, right now, because it's summer, I have plenty of time to write. When I get back to college it might be once a week or EVEN LESS I'm so sorry I love this story so much


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for nothing except howard stark attempting to be a father

After that, he’s stuck between his two childhood friends.

Maybe Tony just never saw it, but the looks Ty and Whit give each other are far from friendly. He feels like a slice of meat being tugged between two dogs.

Whitney won’t leave him alone. Before, they’d spend the weekends together, a couple of evenings. Now, she’s round nearly everyday under the guise of wanting to spend time with ‘her boys’ as she likes to call them.

Ty resents her being there. He resents the female touch on their bachelor pad. Tony also thinks he resents having to share Tony.

That being said, Tony is having a _lot_ more sex recently. Whit rarely leaves without bringing him to bed.

Or couch. Or floor. Or, on one memorable occasion, a kitchen counter.

He tries not to think about it the same way he tries not to think about anything. He has other problems, like his work, like his parents, like the fact he woke up last night rock hard and dreaming about a set of lips pertaining to a tall man with blonde hair and ice eyes.

It’s becoming unbearable. Living with Ty, having him so close, and —

Ty feels the same way. Either that or he’s a sadist who enjoys walking around in a towel just to watch Tony squirm.

Tony drinks some to stave off the shakes. And he does some pure class coke, too, because he can afford it and he doesn’t know how else to have fun with Whitney anymore except for when he’s snorting white gold off her tan thighs.

Until, of course, he gets a call from his mother.

Oh God.

“Tony,” she says, and then there’s a silence.

“Mom.” He says, finally.

“How are you?”

“Fine.”

“How’s school?”

“Good.”

“That’s good. That’s good.”

Another pause.

“Your father and I would like to invite you round for Thanksgiving.”

Whitney, who’s sitting next to him, rolls her eyes, and Tony grins.

“Uh,”

“Are you still with your girlfriend?” His mother says quickly.

“Uh.”

Tony tries to fight off rising panic and Whitney shifts beside him, narrowing her eyes.

“Yeah, we’re together. Why?”

“Bring her along. We’d love to meet her. You’ve been together a while.”

Whitney’s eyes brighten. She just got invited to the holy grail, somewhere Ty will never get to go: Tony’s house.

He can’t say no, now. Fuck, he can’t even refuse. He feels like the woman in his life are suddenly in cahoots and conspiring against him.

God, he’s paranoid. Maybe Whitney’s rubbing off on him.

“Sure,” Tony lies easily, because he’s good at that “why not? She’d be happy to come. Let me just, what time did you say? Stay the night? Oh no, don’t worry, we don’t want to be trouble, we can go back to Whit’s…?” He raises a pleading eyebrow at her and she nods “Yeah, no, that’s fine. Okay. Goodbye, bye, bye.” He trails off and then slumps.

“What just happened.” He murmurs.

“Thanksgiving with the Starks.” Whitney says, curling close. “Wow. Should I prepare a speech?”

“You might want to bring a weapon.”

 

 

 

Ty’s pissed. Tony can see it in the curve of his mouth, in the way his eyebrows draw closer together, and his cheeks dimple, like he’s sucking on a lemon.

“Both of you?” He says, and his eyes find Whitney, who Tony isn’t surprised to see is smiling smugly. “Wow. Okay, have fun.”

“We will.” Whit says sweetly, hooking her arm through Tony’s.

Tony makes a face and looks away, but not before catching Ty’s eye.

“I’ll just stay here. Maybe I’ll deep clean the apartment, God knows it needs it.”

“Don’t touch my stuff.” 

Ty shrugs. “Whatever. You mind if I use your bed? I’m gonna have some people round.”

Tony sucks his teeth. “Whatever floats your boat.”

 

 

 

“Just. I don’t know. Be yourself.”

“Tony, you’ve got to have better advice than that.”

Tony really doesn’t. It occurs to him that he knows nothing about his parents. Do they like demure? Cocky? Pretty and still? Intelligent and loud? What would a man like Howard Stark like his son’s girlfriend to be like?

Either way, Whitney’s persistent questioning is getting on his nerves. The last time he saw Howard —

Doesn’t really need saying, does it.

“Could you, just, like, shut up? Please? For a second?” Tony’s fingers keep up their tapping on the wheel of the car “Please. Sorry. Just — ”

“It’s okay,” Whitney sighs “I’m sorry. I forget that’s it’s so crazy.”

“Yeah,” Tony says “crazy.”

He thinks of all the things he wants to say to his father. All the ways that he’s gonna make him feel as small as he’s made Tony feel.

But then he gets home and he sees him for the first time in year.

Losing that much weight in such a short amount of time is not healthy, Tony is sure. His father’s face is gaunt. His clothes hang off him.

His hands shake, constantly. There’s no stopping it. 

When he shuffles forward to shake Tony’s hand, he sees how small he has become. Like he’s shrunk. For the first time, Tony looks down on his father.

He doesn’t have the heart, then. Whatever he had wanted to say, whatever he was going to do.

It’s not worth it.

For the first time he’s faced with the idea that his father is going to die, very soon, and then —

Tony doesn’t know.

“And this is Whitney.” 

Tony steels himself, smiling, and presenting her to his parents. His mother kisses her on both cheeks and pulls her in for a hug, his father shakes her hand, smiles at her, perfectly charming.

For a moment, Tony’s proud. Look at me, he wants to say, look at me, I graduated summa cum laude from MIT, I’ve got a gorgeous girlfriend, I’ve got patents under my belt, I work out, I’m popular, I’m perfect, _be proud,_ please, please just be proud.

But the moment passes, and he lets Whitney carry the weight of the small talk. It is something at which she excels.

“Law, did you say? At Harvard? Brilliant, what’s that like?”

“Byron Frost! Of course, I saw him at polo back in the day.”

“What type of yacht? I find that the calibre is all in the shape these days, engines be damned.”

Tony pitches in when needed, avoiding his father’s gaze and clenching his wine tight in his hand. He wants more, needs something to steady his nerves, and he didn’t get a drink this morning so it’s starting to show.

He feels his father’s gaze on the side of his face.

“More?” He asks, and it’s the first thing he’s said directly to Tony all evening.

He pours Tony a glass of scotch, and Tony takes it gratefully.

He doesn’t notice the way his parents lock eyes across the room.

He downs it pretty quickly, and then goes for another, subtle. Whitney jabbering away and his mom is laughing in all the right places but he can feel his dad _staring_ and he can’t quite manage it without another drink.

Maria is resting her hand on Whitney’s arm, laughing at something she just said. “Delightful, dear, _davvero._ Come with me, let me show you the kitchen —”

Tony’s mind whites out. What? Why’s she showing Whit the kitchen? Is she leaving him _here?_ With Howard? 

Tony watches with mounting horror as his mother and girlfriend leave him alone with his father.

For a moment, there’s that old childhood fear. He wishes Jarvis were here.

“Tony,” his father says, smiles tightening round his face. “Put down the drink.”

Tony blinks. “What?”

“The drink. Put it down.”

Tony’s not entirely sure what his dad is trying to say, so he goes to finish it before setting the glass on the table.

“Your mother and I are worried.”

“About what?” He frowns, because he still hasn’t managed to put two and two together.

“We’ve heard rumours, Tony. About you — actually, look, I’m going to blunt here. Obadiah’s paying your professor to report back to him and he’s been told that you’ve been caught drinking in class on _eight_ separate occasions.”

Tony blinks. “ _What?”_

“Drinking, Tony. You’re doing it.” And for a moment, Tony sees what _he_ perceives as a flash of victory in his father’s eyes because now their just as bad as each other.

Tony lurches to his feet. “Is that why you — ” he hiccups “ — is that why you called me here? To talk, to talk shit like that? Go to hell.”

Howard stays sitting, looking up at his son. “You gonna walk away?”

“Fuck yeah,” Tony sways “you’re making shit up. Don’t — ” he points a finger “ — don’t try and see your problems in me because it makes you feel better, old man.”

“I’m seeing my problems in you because you’re my son and I don’t want you going out the same way as me.”

“Fuck you.”

Howard sighs. “Please, Tony. Could we, could we have _one_ civil conversation before I die? Just one?”

Tony narrows his eyes. And then he sits.

“Where’s Jarvis.”

“Tony — ”

“I mean it, old man. I get that, I get that fine, maybe he doesn’t want to see me, but I want to see _him._ Doesn’t it— doesn’t it mean anything to you?” Tony shakes his head, incredulous, and the alcohol has knocked something loose in his chest so it’s okay to be emotional “doesn’t it mean anything that — dad, he _raised me._ And then he left? And I didn’t — ” a hiccup “ — I didn’t even get to say goodbye?”

Even Tony sees Howard’s eyes soften. He isn’t, apparently, completely heartless.

“I know that,” he says, half-defensively “I would give it to you. I’m not witholding information out of some kind of sadistic pleasure, Tony,” his father says disparagingly “I’m gonna respect my friends wishes —”

“But _why.”_ Tony presses. “What’s wrong with him? Does he need help? You can get him help? Is he sick? What’s wrong?”

Howard wavers.

“Nothing,” he says finally “I can’t tell you.”

“You have a shit poker face.”

“So do you.” Howard rebounds. “Tell me why you’re drinking.”

Tony laughs. “Tell _you_ why I’m drinking? What you gonna do, hold my hand? Get me help? Oh my God!” Tony is laughs again, starting to verge on hysterical “God, that’s priceless. You and mom both, right? I know, we could all go to Alcoholics Anonymous together! That’ll be a fun family outing for sure — ”

“You don’t need to throw it back in my face, boy. I want to help you.”

“Yeah, well I don’t need help.” Tony sharpens. “Not from you. Never from you.”

(Which is funny, because some twenty years or so, the genius of Howard Stark and his help from beyond the grave is the only thing that could save Tony’s life)

 

 

 

Tony decides to cut Thanksgiving short.

“Whitney,” he says “we’re leaving.”

Whitney’s smile falls. She rolls her eyes.

“Shit, not again.”

“Get in the car.”

Her fingers brush his when she presses past.

“Mom,” Tony says levelly “have you been spying on me?”

Maria fixes him with a square look. “Your father talked to you, then.”

“Yeah, he talked to me. Felt a bit forced, but he talked to me.”

“We’re worried.”

“Great. You’re a few years too late.”

“I’m your mother, Tony. I’m allowed to be concerned.”

“It’s okay, mom.” Tony says, voice bland “You don’t have to pretend to love me. I’m a big boy now.”

“I do,” his mother swallows “I do love you, Tony. Don’t be silly.”

She’s lying, and they both know it.

Tony inhales sharply. “Whatever, mom. I’m going, see you again never — ”

“Wait.” His mom cuts out. “Tony, your girlfriend — ”

“Yes?”

“Her father killed my brother.”

Tony blinks. “What.”

“Her father shot my broth—”

“I heard that.” Tony says, distantly. “I mean… she’s adopted. She doesn’t… talk, she doesn’t talk to her real dad.” He shakes his head. “And what does that have to do with me?

“Is that what she told you?” Maria mimes spitting onto the floor. “Family is family. And you know what her family — ”

“She wouldn’t fucking do that, okay? She’s not going to go running back to— ”

“And you would know because?”

“I’ve known her since I was six years old.”

Maria pauses. “That doesn’t mean you know a person.”

Tony thinks about Jarvis. “Yeah, well I get that now.” 

Tony doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like that _connection._ He doesn’t like thinking about his mother’s family, and he doesn’t like thinking that they are brought to together that way. That he’s dating the daughter of his uncle’s murderer.

If feels too _close._

Too coincidental.

He turns to leave.

“I mean it, Tony. Be careful with her. She’s not your family. She will never have your best interests at heart like we do.”

Tony turns back. “You can drop it,” he says, and he’s not even that angry, just incredulous “it’s okay, you don’t have to pretend that you care. It’s fine.”

His mother swallows. “Stane said that you drink. He said that — ”

“It’s nice that it took you this long to care.”

“I thought you were okay,” Maria blurts “I thought you were fine.”

“I am fine.”

Maria tucks a stray hair behind her ear. “You would,” she clears her throat “you would say if you weren’t?”

“What would you do about it?”

“We can get you help. Before it’s too late. Before you end up like — ”

“Like my father. Yeah, I know.”

“And me.” She swallows.

Tony sucks his teeth.

“It runs in the family.” She adds. “You need to be careful.”

“Why do you care?” Tony says, suddenly.

Maria holds her head high. “Because I promised I wouldn’t let my son grow up to be like his father.”

Tony considers. 

“You missed my graduation.”

It’s the final straw. When Tony leaves that house, a guillotine slices any bond he ever had with his parents, and he’s finally able to walk free.

Not that it matters because by Christmas they're dead.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♫ too little too late by JoJo starts playing ♫
> 
> UP NEXT: Tony and Ty get it oooooooon


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This could easily be considered dub-con bc even though Tony thinks he wants it he's pretty high so please be careful!

Whitney and Tony don’t talk as much when they get home. Maybe it’s the stress of meeting Tony’s parents, or maybe it’s the shock that Tony might one day grow into Howard Stark that’s keeping her away.

It means that Tony is left with Ty.

One evening, he’s sitting on his couch wiring a circuit board for what will be a computer. This shit is gonna be big, he knows it, he just needs to find the time to start advancing into AI technology.

It’s his relax time. He’s got a glass of wine and some scotch for later. The curtains are shut against the cold. It’s warm, cosy. There’s a blanket over his lap and the old fireplace is roaring.

Until Ty dumps his coke onto the table.

“You’ve been a bad boy.” He purrs.

Tony blinks. “Where did you get that.”

“Your drawer. You need to find better hiding places.”

“My _underwear_ drawer is pretty private.”

“Not really. Nice boxers, by the way.”

Tony snatches up the packet. “Fuck you.”

Ty laughs. “Relax, Anty. I’m no judge. What’s a little recreational coke use between friends?”

“I didn’t think you were into anything that wasn’t organic.”

“Funny, but I’m all up for some of the white stuff, Tony,” and he tips some onto the wooden top table and draws out a drivers licence.

“Ty,” Tony hisses “what are you _doing.”_

“What?” He says innocently “You gonna pretend you don’t indulge yourself daily?”

Daily. How would Ty know that?

“I know a lot about you.” He says simply, and then he’s rolling a bill and snorting it smoothly in one. He gasps, shakes his head rapidly. “Oh yeah,” he grins “oh Tony, that’s good.”

Tony shifts and hopes the blanket covers how hopelessly aroused he is right now. Ty dabs at some of the coke left on his his nose, swipes it round his gums. “Beautiful.” He says.

And then he unbuttons his shirt.

“Uh,” Tony blinks.

“Relax,” Ty purrs, and it goes straight to Tony’s hind brain, that voice, so low, why shouldn’t he, he just needs to _relax._ “Drink your scotch, Tony.”

As if on auto-command, Tony picks up his glass and drains it in one.

He doesn’t take his eyes off of Ty’s.

Doesn’t flinch, even, when he slides the blanket from his legs.

Ty pushes himself onto the couch, stretched out and naked from the waist up. “If you’re gonna snort, Tony, then you should do it properly.”

He drags a finger round his navel. Tony’s fingers twitch where they hold the packet.

“Go on, Anty,” Ty encourages, fingers running up and down his firm belly. “Do it.”

Why should he deny himself? He always denies himself. When was the last time he did something just for him?

He sets the coke out onto the smooth expanse of Ty’s skin. Shapes it.

Ty twitches, slightly. 

Tony hears where his fingers twist into the leather of the couch.

Slowly, he bends over Ty’s form. Breathes in the white powder.

It hits him, hard, and for a moment he needs to sit back, head tilted up, blinking, feeling the rush. It’s good, it’s so good, and it’s just what he needs.

He comes back to the feel of Ty’s hand stroking along his thigh.

“Good?” He murmurs.

Tony wonders what’s holding him back. Why he doesn’t just take what he wants. Ty’s right there, and he’s willing, and Tony wants it, so why does he hold back, why won’t he —

“Whit,” he says “what am I going to tell — ”

Ty’s hand closes around his wrist. He leans in. Whispers.

“Nothing,” he says, and his breath curves down Tony’s neck, into his ear, and makes shivers break out over his skull “you won’t tell her anything. We keep this between you and me.”

Tony turns, lets his head rest inches from Ty’s. “This?” He murmurs “What is this?”

Ty’s lips are sucking at his neck, he teeth leaving marks along his throat. “Us,” he breathes “it’s us, Anty. I’ve wanted you for so,” another bite “so long.”

Tony moans. This is nothing he’s ever felt before, this is nothing he can understand. Being with Whitney is so good, and so right, and it’s routine. She’s the woman a man like him should marry, she’s the Maria to his Howard, and everything is so regular and perfect and _boring._

Ty is like heat and fire and the low buzz of arousal in Tony’s belly burns hot. He’s never felt like this, he’s never gotten pleasure like this before, not with any of his partners, because now it feels _fulfilling,_ it feels like he’s getting something that he _wants,_ and Ty wants him, so why not, why shouldn’t he _indulge._

He lets his head fall back, breath coming slowly, while Ty straddles his waist, tasting him along his neck, sucking and biting, and his wrists are in his hands and it feels so _good,_ he thrusts up almost unconsciously and Ty huffs a laugh into his neck.

Then his knee is pressed between Tony’s legs and Tony is hooking his hands into Ty’s hair, drawing him up to his mouth, and then they’re kissing, and Tony tastes coke and wine and flesh and he ruts against Ty’s leg, the heat in his gut starting to pool to something more intense.

He moans again, thrusts harder, presses his tongue into Ty’s mouth, sucks on his lip, hard, bites, and it’s enough to draw blood, and it sets the precedent for all the rest of their trysts because Tony and Ty cannot make love without drawing blood first.

“Want to fuck you,” Ty pulls back, ripping the catch on Tony’s jeans and shoving a hand down his pants “want to fuck you.”

“Ty,” Tony breathes “T— Ty — ”

The other man exposes his cock and takes it roughly in his hand, presses down the shaft as Tony bucks his hips up to gain more friction. “Yes,” he pants “yes.”

Ty’s palming himself and he’s milking Tony and Tony feels the orgasm on the edge of his senses, feels it building and building, but it’s never taken this long before, the pleasure of the build up had never been this drawn out, and he fucks his hips harder to try and gain relief, to speed it up, but it just hangs there out of his grasp.

He cries out in frustration as Ty slides to kneel between his legs, his free hand fondling his balls, and then —

Tony’s legs twitch and jump off the floor as he takes his balls into his wet, hot mouth. He can feel Ty smiling around them and he keeps his hand on his cock, keeps up the rhythm, punctuated by long sucks of his sac.

“Ty,” Tony gasps “fuck, fuck.”

“Better than Whitney, right?”

“Better than — ” Tony’s voice tails up in a gasp “better than Whit, fuck, better than anything, I’m gonna come — ”

“You’re taking your time.”

“Ty,” Tony whines, eyes screwed shut tight, head tilted back, it’s so hot in here, it’s so warm and he feels his hair plaster to his head “Ty, Ty, I’m gonna come.”

And he is, he will, the pleasure is mounting, building, oh God, it’s so _hard,_ the pleasure is a tangible thing and it’s coming, he’s gonna come, he’s gonna —

He cries out, when he comes. For the first time, Tony screams his release, and the world whites out.

He comes to to the wet sound of Ty’s hand as it grips his cock. He hears Ty’s exhaledgasp, and then feels hot ropes of his spend that hit against his belly where his shirt has ridden up.

What did he just _do._

It takes a while to control his breathing, for his thighs to stop shaking.

“Tony,” Ty murmurs “Tony, that was so _good.”_

Tony blinks, dozy. “Ty,” he murmurs “Ty, what just happened?”

Ty sighs, slumping down next to him, one arm slung around his shoulder. “Well,” he says “we did some coke. And then I brought you to orgasm.”

“No shit, I mean, what just _happened?_ What did we _do?”_

Ty trails his fingers through the come on Tony’s belly. “Are you going to tell me now that you _don’t_ want me?”

Tony forces himself upright. “I do,” he says “I do want you. I’ve, I’ve always wanted you and you _know_ it.”

“Good,” Ty purrs “then let’s go to bed.”

Tony blinks. “Ty, I’m dating Whitney.”

Ty smiles. “Tony,” he says, knowingly “I’m not asking you to stop dating Whit.”

Tony’s eyes narrow. “What are you asking for?”

“You.” He says, simply. “Just you. Just sex, _from_ you.”

“Sex,” Tony murmurs, and then he laughs. “Sex?” 

“Don’t worry, sugar puff. I’ll show you how it all works.”

“Why.” Tony demands. “Why?”

“Because I am going to _rock your world.”_ Ty grins. “And, eventually, you’ll see what your missing. And you’ll leave that miserable bitch for me.”

 

Tony wakes up hungover.

And next to Tiberius Stone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so there it is more to come pretty soon because Tony cannot keep it in his pants, apparently


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for substance abuse, addiction, and what is definitely dub-con towards the end

Ty becomes Tony’s big dirty secret.

(On top of the drugs, obviously. Although, Tony realises, nobody cares if he snorts himself to death. They would if he told them he was falling in love with a man)

Falling in love. Falling in love? No. In lust. Tony is completely, ridiculously, in lust with Ty.

By the time Christmas rolls around, there have been six other occasions like the one that night after Thanksgiving. He can’t get enough of him. Everything about him drives him crazy, his smell, his weight, the way he smiles, that _smirk,_ his eyes, how they roll when he drawls and that deep, smooth voice.

They haven’t fucked yet.

Tony still has a girlfriend.

Would he leave Whit for Ty? Absolutely not. Whitney is… he can’t leave his girl for a guy.

He would, maybe, be willing to leave her for another girl if the chance came along.

When Whitney calls, he finds himself dreading it. He dreads having her over. Partly because he’s paranoid she’ll just _know,_ she’ll find out that he’s been giving his best friend blow jobs every evening. And mainly because they don’t have much to say to one another anymore. They’ve dried out.

They’ve been dating a year, though. Tony guesses it’s a ‘serious’ relationship. He’ll be twenty in a few months, and Whit’s will be twenty-one next year. He’s slowly crawling his way to adulthood, and with adulthood comes —

He doesn’t want to marry Whitney Frost. He can’t spend the rest of his life picking up after her mood swings and trying to force a smile.

She reminds him of his mother.

Tony doesn’t want to call what he’s doing with Ty ‘cheating’ because it’s not. How could it be? Ty’s a _guy._ It’s not like he’s fucking other girls left right and centre. Still, he feels bad. Worse, apparently, than Ty, who spends a lot of the time making jokes about being ‘the other woman.’

Tony wishes he could talk to Jarvis. More than anything, right now, he wishes he could see his face one last time.

He finds himself drinking more to compensate. It’s easier, that way. He doesn’t feel so guilty when he has to look into Whitney’s eyes are tell her he loves her.

 

Tony is shepherded down to California by Ty to stay at his new summer place for Spring Break. In a fit of panic, he brings Whitney along, too.

The look Ty gives Tony when he sees her is pure murder. 

Later, when Whitney is out shopping, Ty presses Tony against the wall and sucks him off, hard, while Tony desperately tries to get him somewhere private because there are people _here_ and they’ll _see_ and _what the fuck do you think you are doing?_

After that, he had pleaded.

“I’ve waited,” he says “I’ve waited for you and you’re still with her. Why? She makes you unhappy, Tony, it’s obvious she makes you unhappy. C’mon,” and he had squeezed Tony’s balls in his hand “c’mon, babe, please. I’m waiting for you.”

“No.” Was Tony’s answer.

Ty had drawn back. “Fine,” he’d said “fine. Fuck you. And fuck her. I don’t need you, Tony.”

Tony thinks, vaguely, that Ty doesn’t like to be turned down.

 

In the meantime, Tony drinks. And drinks. And drinks.

He’s starting to think it might be a problem.

 

He starting to think that, and then, one day when he goes to his stash of white gold, he can’t find it.

He’s frantic. He tosses pillows and crashes draws and scrapes and sheets and sobs because he hasn’t had a hit in a few days and he was relying on this to get him through and if he can’t find it then —

“You’re an addict.” Whitney says, and she’s swinging the packet between her fingers.

“Oh thank God,” Tony pants “oh thank God, Whitney, give it here —”

“No,” she says, and then her voice is sad “Tony, you’re addicted.”

“I’m not,” he frowns, holding out his hand “c’mon, Whit. Don’t fuck around. Give it to me.” He plasters on his most convincing smile.

“If you’re not addicted then go without.”

Tony’s body ripples. “ _No.”_ He snarls “Fuck, Whit, what’s your problem? You do it too — ”

“Not like you.” She says quietly. “Please, Tony. Your mom was right, don’t — ”

“My mom?” He snaps “The fuck she has to do with any of this, stop being a shitty little bitch and _give me the packet._ ”

Whitney’s glare hardens. “Don’t talk to me like.” She says “You don’t get to talk to me like that. You and Ty both treat me like a child.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony blurts “hey, I’m sorry. Come to bed. We can do some coke, even.”

“Do you love me, Tony?”

Tony blinks. “Yes! Yes, of course I love you. Why do you have to ask stupid questions, Whit, you don’t need to be stupid.” And then he pauses. “Please. Please let me have some coke.”

Whitney’s eyes grow sad with pain beyond her years but Tony doesn’t notice. She hands him the packet.

“I’m going to help you, Tony.” She says. “I swear, I’m going to help you.”

_That’s ridiculous,_ Tony thinks, _why would I need help?_

 

It gets worse.

Tony drinks regularly, tops off every hour from the flask his father gave him. He’s sneaking out of class to take a sip, sometimes even to do a line, it’s a lot harder to concentrate when he doesn’t, the world moves slower, and why wouldn’t he? 

It’s not like it’s hurting him. If he actually wanted to, he could always stop.

 

Tony spends the summer partying. A new place every night, and he’s almost constantly high, never leaving his loft without his pocket flask.

Word eventually gets back to his parents. Why wouldn’t it? Fucking let it. Let them hear about him, what does he care. They might even talk to him.

“Tony,” his mother says brightly down the line “we’re concerned.”

“I’ll bet you are.” Tony giggles, because he’s drunk.

“Tony,” his mother says again, “Tony please. If you’re having trouble, we can get you help.”

Again, with the help. Help help help. Why would he need help? He’s riding high. He’s independent, he’s doing well and he has amazing friends, a gorgeous girlfriend and a hot piece of ass on the side. Why the fuck would he need help?

Tony hangs up.

 

One day in late August, Tony is snorting coke off some girl’s ass when he hears a fight from outside.

He’s at Chrissy Martin’s again. He’s probably one of his all time favourite hosts because no matter what the damage she always has it under control.

“What’s happening?” He asks, lighting up a cigarette. The boy at the door shrugs. “Some bum’s trying to sneak in.”

“I’m not a bum.” Come the voice, the petulant, whiny, nasally voice that Tony knows so well.

“ _Nick?”_

Nick blinks. “Tony?”

“You know this guy?” The bouncer Chrissy’s hired to stand by the door asks.

Tony thinks. “Let me grab my coat.”

Nick isn’t looking so hot. Tony could see why the guy’d mistaken him for a bum. Tony takes him to a late-night cafe and buys him a coffee.

“I’m fine.” He insists “I’m fine.”

Tony slouches. “You don’t look fine.” He says, focusing on a point beyond Nick’s head.

“I’m fine.” He says again, and he’s completely erratic. He keeps jumping, twitching, hunching over as soon as someone passes behind him. He’s a fucking mess.

“What happened?”

“My dad died.” He blurts. “He died. I’m fucked, man. My brother’s froze me out and I’m the youngest, all the money was put in a trust fund and the fund is held by my eldest brother and he was in control and he — ”

“Cut you out. I get it.”

“My mom’s sick. I don’t, I haven’t seen her in months. I can’t go home, they won’t let me. Fuck, fuck, you don’t even know, man. You don’t even know what it’s been like. I was four months behind on rent, and then I dropped out of college. I was at Penn state, but — ”

“Why are you here?”

Nick looks lost. “Work, man, work. I found a dealer who’d let me sample some of the merchandise if he didn’t have to pay me money to ship stuff round.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Nick runs a hand through his hair “Jesus.”

His skin is sallow and his face is gaunt. Nick used to —

Tony had never liked Nick. But once, he gave a plushy seal and told to hug it because it would make the nightmares go away.

There are track marks on his arm. Probably heroin.

“Hey, man, if you need any help — ”

“I don’t need help.” Nick says, quickly. “I’m fine. Once I turn twenty-one I’m gonna take my brothers to court. I _know_ they faked my old man’s will, I fucking know it.”

Tony blinks. “Just some money to get you back on your feet — ”

“I’m on my feet.” He snaps “I’m fine. I don’t need help.”

It bemused Tony as to why exactly Nick would refuse help even though he so clearly needed it. The guy was a mess.

Pride, he later found out. It was pride. That, and it’s difficult to see how low you’ve sunk from the bottom of the ocean.

 

Things come to a head between him and Ty a few days later.

Ty is still living with him despite having his own place on the west coast. It makes Tony uncomfortable, because he doesn’t know where they stand.

One day, Tony walks into his bedroom and sees Ty and Whitney.

Naked.

Together.

In his _bed._

He’s speechless.

Ty grins. “Tony. Happy birthday.”

Tony blinks. “What.”

“We missed your birthday.” Whitney purrs. “It’s okay, Tony. Ty’s told me everything.”

Tony panics. He looks at Ty, who imperceptibly shakes his head.

Not everything.

“Come on,” she tugs “come to bed.”

“To — to bed.”

“With us.”

“With… you. Both of you.”

“Why not?” Ty smirks. 

Tony tries not to tear out his hair. “A word, please, Ty.”

The blonde man slinks out of men, and he has no fucking shame, he’s naked and in bed with Tony’s equally-nude girlfriend and he’s smirking like it’s an everyday occurrence.

Tony waits for the door to close before he slams Ty into a wall.

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” he hisses “what do you think you’re doing?”

Ty pouts. “You couldn’t choose, sugar puff. I’m speeding it up for you. You get both of us.”

Tony shakes his head. “Whitney _hates you._ How did you — ”

“Convince her? I told her you were having a nervous breakdown. But it’s okay!” Ty raises his hands in placation “Now you get both of us.”

Tony’s bites the inside of his cheek. “How could you think,” he growls “that this was _ever_ an acceptable route? And she doesn’t know any of it? The blow jobs, the hand jobs, the kissing, the — ”

“General debaucherous behaviour, no.” Ty admits. “But who gives a shit? She is 100% willing, let me tell you — ”

“You’re lying, though. To her. You’re telling her I’m having a breakdown to make her sleep with us.”

“True,” Ty says “but have you seen yourself lately? I’m not that far off the mark, Anty.”

Tony’s eyes narrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ty runs a single finger behind the sensitive skin behind Tony’s ear. “It means I think you need this, Anty. Let us help you.”

“Help me?” Tony swallows, because they’re all insisting, they’re all insisting something’s wrong with him, but he’s _fine,_ why does no one, why won’t they —

Ty draws the lube from his back pocket. “We’re gonna fuck you so hard you stutter like a six year old.”

“Not funny.”

Ty pushes Tony towards the door. “Get in there and get naked.”

Whitney smiles. Does she want this? Really? Tony feels Ty’s hot length pressed against his back.

“Let me help you,” Ty whispers into his ear, and he takes Tony’s hands in his, hold them firm against his chest so Tony can’t get away. “Why do you never let us help you?”

For a moment, Tony feels like a autonomous thing, a puppet being pulled by Ty. Both of them, Tony and Whit, he feels like Ty’s playing them, building them up and pushing them back down.

Whit’s spread out on the sheets, eyes half-lidded, on her front. Her legs and crossed and in the air, swinging, as she waits patiently, a half-smile on her face.

Ty’s tongue on his neck.

Whitney wants to impress him, he realises. For a moment, Tony has a vision of visceral clarity. Whitney loves him. She doesn’t want to lose him, and she thinks this is the only way she can hold him down. To sleep with both of them.

That’s wrong. It’s so wrong. This is all wrong, Ty is wrong and he is wrong and Whit is wrong and they all need help.

But he lets Ty pull apart his buttons.

“I have work.” He blurts. “I have work, I can’t do this.”

“ _Liar.”_ Ty hisses in his ear, and pushes him onto the bed.

“You’re nervous.” Whitney hums, dragging him down on top of her, twisting on the bed so she’s faced up and he’s lying over her pert form. “Don’t be.” She says softly, and she smoothes a hand down his cheek while Ty rips off his pants.

“Are you okay with this?” Tony says, because he has to ask.

“Do you want it?”

Tony imagines Whit under his tongue and Ty fucking into him from behind.

“Yes.” He says honestly, and there’s a raw need in his voice.

“Then yes.” She says. “I am okay with it.”

Tony smiles, or tries to. He’s acutely aware of Ty’s weight dipping the bed behind him.

“C’mon,” he hears his cocky smile “can you honestly say neither of you have ever fantasised about this?”

“Yes.” Tony and Whit say in unison.

“First time for everything, boys and girls.” He grins, and Tony hears the pop of the lube cap.

“Uh, what are you doing back there?”

“Nothing. Out of interest, when was the last time you went to the toilet?”

“Fuck this.” Tony says, spinning round. “I’m not letting you anywhere near my asshole.”

Whitney giggles. “C’mon, Anty. Don’t be a killjoy.”

“Okay, would you let Ty’s fingers near your asshole?”

“This isn’t how I saw this going.” Ty frowns.

 

Later, Tony is split open by Ty’s cock and gasping. 

“How’s that feel?” Ty pants, thrusting deeper into his ass “That feel good?”

Tony fists his hands in the sheet. “Whit,” he manages “Whit — ”

He tastes her under his tongue and she arches, sweating, writhing, and Tony marvels at the ability to make someone feel so good.

Ty draws out and Tony groans because the feel of his ass gaping in the air isn’t something he’s familiar with but he thinks it’s something he can come to love.

“I didn’t know you liked this,” Whit says “I mean, I always suspected, you know? You and Ty. But that’s cool, right? Everyone has, everyone has little things — ”

What did Ty tell her, exactly? How did he explain Tony’s preferences without mentioning that they’ve been semi-fucking each other over the past year?

“This is all for you, big boy,” Ty grins into his ear, yanking him back “you’re gonna thank me for this in the morning and remembering it for years to come.”

Tony pants, and he’s still rock hard and Ty hasn’t even come yet. He doesn’t understand, why are they stopping, let’s go on a bit more —

“ _Ty.”_ Whitney hisses. “Not that. You promised.”

“Relax, Whit,” Ty says, and he feels his shifting muscles behind him as he reaches to drag something forward. Tony feels himself pushed forward and he groans as his chest impacts heavily with the bed.

“Stay still.” Ty warns, and then Tony feels the sprinkles along his thighs.

“What?” He says, voice wrecked “wait, no fair, give me some.”

“Tony,” Whit warns “no.”

“Stop moving.” Ty chides, slapping his thigh. “You’re spoiling the merchandise.”

Tony tries not to flinch where the coke tickles his skin.

He can feel Whitney’s disapproving glare but he doesn’t care. This is supposed to be for him? Give him some coke.

“Easy,” Ty says, and he holds his forearm under Tony’s nose. “Go easy.”

It doesn’t matter. As soon as it hits Tony’s sense he’s a live wire. Everything is more, then, everything is times ten. The feel of Ty’s hands on his hips, the feel of him pressing his fingers into his ass, the touch Whitney’s slight fingers in his hair, it’s all _more,_ it’s all like bright electricity dancing over his flesh and he’s a torrent of synapses and chemical messages sent in his blood.

He moans, and Ty pulls him back so they’re both in a seated position, except Tony is split on Ty’s cock. The blonde is mouthing at the shell of his ear and Tony’s head is thrown back in rapture.

“Yes,” he says “yes, that spot, there.”

“This spot?” Ty says innocently, and he fucks into him so Tony cries out, fingers scrabbling for purchase but ending up caught in Ty’s grip.

“No hands for this game,” Ty whispers “you’re just gonna take it.”

Tony moans again. His cock bobs against his belly, leaving a trail of pre-come.

“Your turn, Whit.” Ty says, breath hot against Tony’s neck as the he clenches spasmodically on Ty’s length.

But Whit crosses her arms. Even like this, even naked, and a mess, she manages to look fierce.

“No,” she says “no, what did I fucking say, Ty. No coke. No fucking coke, and you went and — ”

“Boo fucking hoo,” Ty drawls “suck him. Come on. We had a deal.”

“Fuck your deal,” Whitney spits “you finish him.”

Tony throws back his head. He’s getting impatient, and he doesn’t understand what’s happening. He tries to wrench his hand loose to finish himself but Ty hold is firm.

“Don’t be a bitch,” Ty whines “c’mon, Whit. It’s not fair to leave him hanging like this.”

“I told you.” Whit says, standing “You finish him. I’m done. Obviously, you know much better than I do, so.”

Tony hears her rifling around, hears a zip, and sees her pulling her shirt over her head.

“He’s _your_ boyfriend.” Ty growls. “Stay.” He demands.

“Is he?” Whit says vaguely. “Fuck you, Ty.” And Tony thinks she might be crying. 

“Whit,” he rasps “where are you going?”

“Make up your mind, Tony.”

“What?” He says, brow crinkling in confusion. He tries to get up but Ty isn’t letting him leave.

“Make up your mind. Him or me.”

“Whit — ”

“I’m not an _idiot!”_ She screams, and it’s sudden, and it’s come out of nowhere. “You think I don’t know what you two have been doing? Do you think I’m a _child?”_

Tony manages to scramble free. “Whit,” he says “Whit, I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t care.” She sobs. “I don’t care that you’ve been fucking him, or sleeping with him, or whatever. As long as you came back to me, because, because you can’t marry Tiberius Stone, Tony.”

“I—”

“But fuck him,” she swears, and she’s looking at Tony but pointing at Ty “fuck him, because he’s a liar and you fall for it every fucking time.”

The drug that’s raging round Tony’s system makes it impossible to see the hilarity of this, he’s naked and his cock is hard against his belly, and Ty is half crouched on the bed in a similar state, and they’re being shouted at by this girl when, a few moments ago, they had been fucking on the bed.

“Whitney — ”

“Him or me?”

Tony could do it, right now. He could say Ty and leave Whitney and forget all of this.

But he can’t.

“You,” he says softly “of course it’s you.”

Whitney begins to cry and Ty curses behind him.

 


	33. Chapter 33

Tony doesn’t speak to Ty for a long time, after that.

Whitney, however, is just like she was back at the beginning. When they first started dating. She makes him promise to cut back on the drinking and the smoking and the snorting and he agrees just to see her smile.

Tony gets a call from Obie, one day. Tony doesn’t understand why, but then he talks about his father.

“Rapidly deteriorating, Tony. He couldn’t remember my name the other day.”

Tony winces. There’s no love lost between him and his father but he’d rather he didn’t have to suffer through the indignity of losing his memory before conking out permanently.

In Ty’s absence, Tony remembers that he does in fact have other friends. He actually calls Rhodey for the first time in a year, and Tony marvels at how he’s willing to put up with Tony’s shit.

“It’s in the job description, Tony. I’m an air force man, remember?”

He tells him that he’s actually going on his first tour later that month and that they should meet up before then. “But you’ll be around after too, right?”

Tony makes some affirmative noises and hangs up.

 

It’s back again. That feeling.

The one where he finds it hard to get out of bed.

He’s trying to get through it. He really is.

But it’s so hard.

 

“You’ve changed,” Whitney murmurs one night.

“Oh yeah?” Tony says, disinterestedly.

But Whitney props herself up. “What’s wrong, Tony?”

“Nothing.” 

“Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

“There’s nothing wrong.”

“Let me help you.”

“I don’t need help.”

Whitney gives a small noise of frustration. “Tony,” she says softly, and she grips his arm where he’s rolled over. “Please. I know something’s wrong.”

“I’m fine.”

 

When Tony goes home for Spring Break, he’s shocked by what he finds.

His father no longer has the capacity to be cruel.

“It shouldn’t be this fast,” his mother says “it shouldn’t have happened this fast. It’s the drinking, Tony,” she whispers “it’s the drink.”

Obadiah shakes his head and his mother holds Tony’s hand for the first time since he was a child as his father waits in his office, dressed in his best suit, for guests that will never come.

 

Some days are better than others, Obie explains. Some days he’s able to converse just as normal. Other’s it’s worse.

He explains that they’ve put a block on R&D but that it can’t last forever. Tony is twenty-one next month. Is he ready to take his father’s place?

He doesn’t really have a choice, but he accepts anyway.

 

He’s at a party and he’s drinking and he’s drinking, and it’s just another party, but he drinks too much and then he snorts too much and he’s throwing up, skin slick and hair plastered to his forehead and he curls into the corner while people stare and he wishes, he wishes Jarvis were here.

It’s Rhodey that finds him because he was supposed to be saying bye to Rhodey because he’s going away and it’s Rhodey’s party but he spends the rest of it holding Tony’s hair out of the toilet bowl and murmuring and tucking him into bed.

 

For Tony, there are good days.

And there are bad ones.

He knows he’s drinking more. But it’s just so fucking hard. It’s so fucking hard and he doesn’t know what to do to pick himself back up.

He drinks and it’s easier.

 

“You’re drunk,” Whitney spits “you’re fucking drunk.”

“M’ not,” Tony lists to the side, and then he grins. “Whitney!” He says throwing his hands into the air “Whitney, GiGi, my girl. Myyy girl.”

“Get off me.” Whitney pushes him away and he falls onto the couch. “What’s wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Tony sighs dramatically. “I’m going to New York, Whitney, Whitney. Whitney. I’m moving. I have too for work, so,” he slumps. “I miss Ty.” He murmurs.

Whitney makes a disgusted noise. “Get up.” She spits “Get up you pathetic sack of shit.What’s wrong with you? What is wrong with you? Get it together, Tony.”

“M’ fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Whitney says. “You’re not fine. You drink too much, you take too much coke. I think you’re addicted Tony, you’re an addict, understand? You know your father? You know him? That man you hate, yeah, you’re just like _him,_ Tony, you’re worse than him and you won’t let _anyone help —_ ”

“Fuck you!” Tony roars, lurching to his feet “Don’t you, don’t you fucking dare. I’m not him. I’m nothing like him.”

“Get away from me.” Whitney says, suddenly, “Do not _touch me,_ Tony Stark.”

He’s clutching her wrist tight in his hand and he’s stronger than he remembers.

“I’m leaving.” She says “I’ve had enough, understand? I’ve given you chances, I’ve done all that. I have been, I have been the best I can be for you, Tony. I’m not gonna watch, I’m not gonna watch you, watch you — ” she’s becoming hysterical “ — I can’t watch you fall apart and not let me help, Tony. It’s not fair, it’s not fair to me, I _love_ you — ”

“Go!” Tony spits “Fuck off, then! See if I give a shit, Whitney, look at me! Do I care? Have I ever given you the impression that I cared? Fuck off. Don’t come back.”

Whitney blinks rapidly. And then she makes a noise that sounds like choking.

“You bastard.” She gasps “Oh my God, how can you say that, we’ve been together for years — ”

“And _I’ve hated every minute,”_ Tony says, riding the wave of hatred, because he knows she’s right, oh God he knows she’s right, he’s an addict and a disaster and he’s turning into his father “ _you’re_ the reason I’m depressed. I couldn’t fucking think of a way to get rid of you you crazy bitch and now you’ve done it for me!”

“Oh God,” Whitney sobs, grabbing her bag “oh God, oh God, oh God.”

“Fucking leave.” Tony says, and he won’t let himself cry “Fucking go. Get out. I hate you, I _hate_ you, leave, _go, GET OUT!”_ He _screams._

“Oh God,” Whitney sobs, all the way to the door “oh God, Tony please, I love you. I didn’t mean it, c’mon, Tony, come, come here, I swear please don’t cry.”

He’s not crying she’s crying and she needs to get out before he does something he regrets.

“Leave.” He says, one last time, batting away Whitney’s hands.

When the door slams, he knows it’s over.

He doesn’t know what else to say

 

So like a moth to a flame he falls back into bed with Ty.

He arrives on the doorstep of his Boston apartment drunk and coming down from a high and Ty doesn’t ask questions, he doesn’t need to, he already knows.

_“_ Oh, baby,” Ty pants, deep into his neck, hot breath flushing the already slick skin “Anty,” he groans “Anty.”

Tony lets Ty press him back against the wall, lets his hands draw sharp lines against his rips, trace the glisten of his body, tongue swathing against the skin of his neck. He lets his head fall back, all desperation, pleasure, passion, heat.

He feels the tug of hands against the buttons on his chest, feels them pop under the strain of knuckles clenched tight over white material. He jerks at the light caress of fingers on his belly, the way they follow the strip of hair that leads down, down, down, to where his cock lies nestled between trim hair and thick, sweating thighs.

“You filled out,” Ty grins against his neck, one hand deftly unzipping his fly, cupping his balls. Tony laughs, then gasps, head cracking against the wall and mouth twisted in a sick smile. This is everything he wants, it’s everything he needs, it’s not Whitney, it’s not the feel of her on his skin, in his brain, it’s male and Ty and familiar and he has wanted this for so long.

“I couldn’t stay fifteen forever, Caesar,” Tony pants as Ty’s fingers flick at a nipple, roll it between their fingers, and come down for a bite.

“No,” Ty says, moaning at the use of his old childhood name “no, and I’m glad for it, because,” Ty’s teeth nibble at his earlobe, lick the shell, and Tony lets his hands push Ty’s pants to the ground, leaving him bared in only his white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up and unbuttoned, and so, so hot. “Because you’re beautiful now, Tony, all long limbs,” another swipe and Tony moans “strong, you’re so strong, this was all wasted on her, Tony, it was all wasted on Whit—”

“Don’t call her that,” Tony snaps, head still pressed back against the wall and mouth open in rapture “don’t, don’t remind me—”

“Shh,” Ty soothes “it’s okay. It’s okay, c’mon, I have just the thing.” He tugs Tony forward, he’s always the one that pulls and Tony always follows and that is okay, that is, it is so okay, it’s _good,_ Tony loves it because with Ty he can always let go, always.

“Here,” Ty says, pushing Tony, legs sprawled and cock half hard against his thigh, into a chair by the oak table. “Here,” he repeats, and he sets out the coke, uses his own business card to set it into a line, and the rolls a bill, pushes it into Tony’s hand. “C’mon,” he soothes, crouching between Tony’s legs, one tongue swiping a hot heat across his balls “c’mon, Anty.”

Tony shivers, arches back against the chair, and he’s still wearing socks, he thinks vaguely, why is he still wearing socks. He brings his feet to curl round Ty’s head reflexively, takes the note, and there is no thinking, there is no delay, he is everything Whitney said and worse, he’s an alcoholic and a druggy but he can change, he will, in the morning it will be a new day and he deserves this last hit just to keep him going.

His eyes rolls in his head as the drug hits his system, turning him high and loose, and he shudders, clutches Ty’s thick blond hair between his tight fingers and moans as Ty takes his length in one.

“It’s funny,” he says, coming up for air “you’re bigger than I remember.”

Tony’s beyond words, or maybe just can’t be bothered, but Ty mouths wetly at his shaft, draws his tongue over the head, laps at Tony’s balls while Tony’s thighs tighten over his shoulders, moaning, and there is no sound more beautiful that Tony Stark lost and incoherent with pleasure, Ty has loved it since they were just boys playing around and he loves it now.

After, Ty holds him while he cries.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make better life decisions than Tony


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This is Tony at his lowest. Mentions of accidental overdose and suicidal ideation although it's later stated he didn't mean it

Tony spends that summer with Ty. 

He kisses goodbye to Boston for the final time, packs up his workshop and his home for the past eight years. Obie tells him about plans to move the whole of SI out to the valley and Tony pushes his approval heartily. New York is old, and everything he hates, and Cali is new and sun and Ty.

Tony won’t acknowledge it, but he knows there’s something wrong. He knows that there’s something wrong with drinking every morning and every lunch and getting wasted every night. And he knows that there’s nothing funny about the times when he sweats and shakes and laughs hysterically because Ty hasn’t got him his coke on time. 

But Tony’s dealer is back in Boston and he doesn’t know any of the local ones. It’s so much easier to just let Ty get him some.

Problem is, Ty is stingy. Sometimes he’s willing, sometimes he’s not. He doesn’t seem to understand that Tony will go crazy without it, and Tony is having a hard time stopping the shakes in front of him.

Ty is a blessing. He’s not like Whit, he doesn’t sit there and blame him or point fingers, he just gives him the coke, ready to go, and he does everything he can to make life just a little bit fucking easier. Tony tells himself that Whit was wrong, because if he wanted to, he _could_ stop. He can acknowledge now that, sure, okay it would be difficult. But he has _willpower._ He could do it, if he really wanted to.

Which he doesn’t. He doesn’t need to, and it makes life easier. He’s no Nick Boyle; he’s not going on end up living on the streets and dealing to bums.

Ty is good. They’re good.

The sex is pretty great, too.

Tony doesn’t know what it exactly to call what it is they’re doing. Dating? Definitely not. They’re friends with… benefits. Friends with benefits. Tony can’t _date_ Ty, no matter what the other man insists. He’s a guy.

“Tony, you’re not the only gay man in the world you know.”

“Not gay.” Tony had huffed.

“You’re not the only man in California that likes men, Tony. Not by a longshot. I have news for you, my friend. You know all those guys at the party last night? All of them, and I do mean all of them, yes, the conservative tight-holes too, have at least sucked or been sucked before. _At least.”_

“Great.” Tony had said. “And then they go home to their girlfriends and have lots of white babies. They don’t _live_ with other guys.”

“If it’s that much of a problem,” Ty had snapped “then fuck off. I _love you,_ Tony. And I’m getting fed up of waiting for you to say it too.”

Tony does love Ty, he thinks. He doesn’t know. It’s hard to say, because Tony can count on one hand the people he loves and one of them has disappeared and the other he chucked out of his apartment in a drunken rage.

Lust, Tony reminds himself. You’re in _lust._

_“I’m sorry,”_ he says later “I don’t mean it. Fuck, you know me, I just say shit, I don’t even _think —_ ”

Ty had shut him up with a bruising kiss.

 

He can’t stop shaking.

His fingers tremble, his body quivers, there’s nausea rising in his stomach and it’s awful, he’s throwing up again and again all down himself and it’s _disgusting,_ he’s disgusting and he’s so fucking scared because he doesn’t know what’s wrong or how to stop it.

“Ty,” he sobs “Ty, Ty.”

There’s the sound of a catch unlocking and then the front door is being pulled open. Ty is staring at him like he doesn’t know who he is, and there’s disgust there.

He throws up again, and this time it’s on Ty’s bare feet. He slips, hands clutching at the door but it’s not enough to hold him up and when he falls Ty catches him, holds him against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs, mind breaking down “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Ty doesn’t say anything but he drags him inside with urgency as Tony shudders and groans.

“What happened.” He asks, brusquely. 

“Don’t know,” Tony says, and for a moment the world tilts and shifts and he’s trying to push away “don’t, don’t —” 

His vomit hits the tiled floor of the bathroom.

“Ty,” he whispers “Ty, I think I’m gonna die.”

Ty is ripping his soiled shirt and pants from his sweating body. “Don’t be ridiculous, you’re not going to die.”

Tony barely hears him. He’s breathing in and out and in and out, heavy, getting faster and faster. He curls his fingers and stretches them, tries to feel himself again but everything’s disconnected, he’s taken too much, he’s an idiot, he’s a pathetic little shit, and he’s going to die, oh God, oh God he doesn’t want to die.

“Got to — ” Tony tries to push past Ty’s arms where they hold him up “got to go, got to — ”

“Tony,” Ty says, irritation, and maybe some panic “ _stop,_ calm down, here, shh, sit here.”

Tony’s fingers catch in Ty’s dirty vest. “Gonna throw up, gonna throw — ”

Ty pushes his head into the toilet bowl.

“Please,” he says, and he doesn’t know to whom he is speaking or why “God, oh God, I’m dying — ”

“ _You’re not dying.”_ Ty spits “You idiot. Know your fucking limits, Tony, know your limits, you took too much too fast, didn’t you?” 

Tony can’t talk. He feels so sick it’s unreal, he’s never felt like this before, every shudder brings a new wave of nausea and it’s awful, it’s torture, he’s shaking and sweating and he’s so fucking cold, he curls his naked body around the toilet bowl.

“Here,” Ty says, and there’s the slap of a cloth on the back of his neck “here, I’m sorry. Shh, Tony.”

Tony sobs and dry heaves. There’s nothing to come up but his body won’t except it, it wants to expel every trace of the drug from his system, it wants to milk him dry.

Ty’s dragging the cloth over his back and trying to soothe him but Tony can’t stop shaking. What if he dies? What if he actually dies? Oh God, fuck, fuck Whitney was right, he’s an addict and he’s turning into his father, he’s worse than his father and he had hurt her —

Ty is pulling back his head. He’s wiping the corner of his mouth with a damp cloth. “Easy, Anty.” He’s murmuring. “Easy.”

Tony hands find his, and Ty lets him hold on, lets him sit against the bathroom wall with Ty crouched in front of him, naked, with sick rolling down his chest and hair plastered to his head, pupils blown, shaking and sweating. Ty holds his hands and he doesn’t let go and Tony tosses his head, throws it back and tries to fight down the extreme nausea.

“Gonna throw — ” He doesn’t finish the sentence and Ty pushes his head back into the toilet.

 

Later, Tony is lying on Ty’s bed, spread out, shaking and sweating in equal measure. He throws the sheets from his body only for him to start dumping heat, and which point Ty dutifully tucks him back in.

He holds his head to let him sip at cold water.

He washes the sweat from his crevices.

He changes the sheets.

Tony tries to remember what happened, at the party, but it’s a blur. He’d taken some shots, and then snorted some, and then some more, and then he must have taken more, because the next thing he knew he was shaking and he couldn’t breathe and he thought he was dying.

After, Ty tells him not to let it happen again. Never. He tells him he can do coke, there’s nothing wrong with that, but if he ever misjudges that badly again Ty will never forgive him.

In Tony’s opinion, he got off lightly. He and Ty resume their relationship, and the word ‘addiction’ or ‘help’ isn’t mentioned.

 

It doesn’t stop Tony, though. After the incident has passed, he forgets the fear of thinking he was going to die. He forgets the crushing realisation of addiction. Or, he pretends that it was his delirious mind playing up his symptoms. So, he took too much coke. So what? Happens all the time. It doesn’t mean he’s addicted. A first-timer could easily make that mistake, too.

It reaches a point where Tony is drinking near consistently. He’s partying every night, and usually every morning, too. 

Snorting isn’t enough anymore. It doesn’t give him a quick enough high. Injecting is easier for everyone, right?

It gets him going for longer, and everything’s is so much _easier._ When he’s drunk nothing matters and when he’s high he’s invincible and when he’s both it’s like flying and why why why would he ever want to stop? It’s flying and sailing and dancing, it’s like being at the front of a crowd, feeling them at your back with the main act on stage and you’re moving in a rhythm with security at you back. So sometimes you get crushed, but you always climb back up onto your feet.

Tony is fine, fine, fine, he _knows_ he’s fine, he doesn’t need anyone pretending otherwise, and Ty loves to snort coke off of Tony’s back and he loves licking it off the inside of Tony’s thighs and everything is so, so _good._

 

Everything is awful it’s awful and Tony’s a mess. He’s a mess and he knows he’s a mess, and he’s coming home every morning and he’s throwing up everything he’s eaten, he’s losing weight, all that weight he tried so hard to gain, and his muscles are growing veiny. 

He’s disgusting, he looks disgusting and he feels disgusting, black bags under his eyes and shakes that never fade and he’s always tipping vodka into his drinks, he takes it with his coffee and orange juice in the morning and his soda at lunch and even his wine at dinner. Tip, tip, tip, he can’t fucking do it, okay? He can’t _not_ drink because if he doesn’t the shakes set in and he realises, he realises how pathetic he’s become.

The drinking stops the _worry,_ the near constant worry, because his father is dying and he has to take over the company and he kicked out his girlfriend and his parents don’t love him and Jarvis left and Ty gave him looks full of longing that’s now turning to disgust because he’s skinny and frail and there are track marks on his arms —

 

But what does it matter? What does it matter, Ty is sucking at him nipples and Tony is giggling and he’s so happy, he’s so fucking happy, he needs to stop letting himself get down because he is _fine._

 

He’s been drinking regularly since he was thirteen, he realises. How did he not see it before? How did he not see what he was becoming? For the first time, Tony feels nothing but sympathy for his father because he’s just like him and has his dad felt like this the whole time? Tony could excuse it, he could excuse him hating his son if he had to feel like this, like nothing _matters,_ why does anything _matter,_ and like everything is pointless and wrong and hating himself this much feels, it feels awful, oh God it’s so bad all he knows how to make it stop is to drink.

He could understand why his father would hate him. He would hate having someone like him for a son, too.

 

He’s in bed and he’s with Ty. He’s just taken his hit and it’s still so fresh that he’s fucking exhilarated, he’s laughing and when Ty goes in to press kisses down his belly, down, down, down, until his cock is resting in his mouth and Tony is moaning.

“Feel good?” Ty pants, and the hot breath causes Tony to buck forward, try and sit himself in Ty’s wet heat.

“So good,” Tony replies, breathless “need you to fuck me.”

“ _Need_ me?” Ty grins, and he’s crawling over Tony’s body “I like the sound of that.”

Tony giggles. “Asshole.”

Ty presses a kiss to his lips and takes Tony’s ass in one hands, squeezing. “I’m not the asshole, here, Tony.”

Ty moves down as Tony spreads his legs, sighing contentedly and shifting. He can pretend he’s okay, like this, everything is great, he’s happy, he’s gonna get fucked by his best friend and it’s gonna feel good, he is fine.

He laughs when Ty draws off his pants and he laughs when he feels his indentation in the bed. He’s still laughing when Ty works a finger deep inside him.

“Something funny?”

Tony laughs.

Ty sucks his teeth. Tony gets like this sometimes, but why shouldn’t he, he’s _happy,_ goddamn he just wants to scream it out and laugh and what’s wrong with that.

He sits up, suddenly, and he drags Ty to him, presses a kiss deep into his mouth. Ty makes a noise of aborted shock and then reciprocates in kind taking Tony’s head in his hands.

Tony’s biting hard enough to draw blood and Ty pushes him back down onto the bed, hands on his shoulders and keeps him there, swooping down to bite a bruise into the delicate flesh of Tony’s throat. He can hear Tony’s moans, like that.

Tony is riding on a wave, and he’s breathing, hard, panting and the lights are blurring over his head. He’s high and drunk and everything is spinning into one, the feel of Ty the feel of the drug, it’s so easy to just forget his problems and laugh and laugh and laugh and —

And then he’s down. He’s gasping and his nails are leaving bloody tracks on Ty’s back, scratching, while he fights to keep in tears, because he’s a mess and he’s disgusting and he doesn’t deserve this, he doesn’t deserve Ty, and he doesn’t know how to stop the drinking and the drugs and —

“Hit me,” he gasps, head pressed back as Ty sucks on his collarbone “hit me, fuck, hit me Ty.”

A pause. “What?”

Tony takes Ty’s wrist in a bruising grip. “ _Hurt me,”_ he spits “fucking hit me you idiot.”

Ty draws back. “Tony, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he says, and he’s bordering on delirious “I need you to hit me, c’mon, it’ll feel so good, it’ll feel — ”

A slap cracks over his cheek, pushing it into the pillow and he gasps.

“Again.”

Another, and he laughs. Another, and he’s jubilant. Yes, yes, yes, this is just what he needs, this is everything he needs and he revels in the pain, sharp and grounding and so, so perfect.

 

Tony drinks. And he injects himself with coke. And he does everything he can to keep his head above the water.

 

He could go home, he reasons. He could go back to New York. With his parents. For some reason, he’s sure they won’t turn him away.

But he can’t. He can’t do that. He’ll finish the summer with Ty, one last summer of fun, right, and then he’ll settle down into his own apartment and he’ll finish the move to Cali and everything will be fine. He’ll stop taking drugs and drinking, it will be fine.

 

He’s drunk again. He’s always drunk, nowadays.

 

He wants to die.

 

He doesn’t want to die. He just wants life to be better.

 

And then it happens again. He takes too much, too fast, the needle is sliding from his hands and his eyes are rolling and he’s vomiting while Ty hold him tight and he thinks that this is it, he’s going to die, he’s going to die, he’s going to die, and he doesn’t want to, he wants to _live._

 

After, Ty is furious.

“C’mon,” Tony says, voice strained, because he needs this so bad, why can’t Ty see. “C’mon, Ty, however you want me, however, c’mon,” and he tries to push up onto his toes and hook his arms around the taller man’s neck.

Ty doesn’t look at him. He doesn’t even stare down at him. He just looks ahead, a man made of stone, as Tony presses kisses to his neck.

“Please,” Tony whispers “I’m sorry. It was an accident. It won’t happen again, please.”

“Know your limits, Tony.”

“I do,” he says quickly “I do know them. It was an accident, I misjudged. But I won’t do it again.”

And then Ty pushes him away. “I’m getting tired of cleaning up after you, Stark.”

“Ty,” Tony says, and his hands follow Ty where he crosses the room “Ty, c’mon. I’m _sorry._ What do you want? Do you want me? I can do anything, I swear.”

“Get out, Tony.”

Tony blinks. “What?”

“Get out. Go. I’ve had enough. I’ve tried with you, Tony. But you’re not worth it.”

You’re not worth it.

Not worth it.

“No,” Tony says, blinking, throat raw “no, please don’t say that.”

“I’m not lying, Tony.” Ty turns, and he stares at him, eyes blank. “Fuck off. I’ve had enough.”

“Ty?”

“Leave.” He says simply.

Tony stumbles.

“I’ve let you live here. And I’ve bought you coke, I’ve bought you your alcohol and I’ve fucked you when you’ve asked for it. And I’ve told you I love you, and you’ve alway thrown it back in my face. I’ve had enough. You can go, now.”

“I — ”

“Get out.”

“Pl — ”

“ _I said get out.”_

So this is it, then. This is rock bottom.

“Don’t, please, Ty. Don’t be, don’t be _hasty,_ let me — ”

A hand on his elbow, and then he’s being dragged. “ _No!”_ Tony screams, and he throws punches as if he’s strong and he carries any weight at all. “No, no, you can’t, you can’t _kick me out,_ I don’t _have anywhere else,_ I don’t — ”

He’s at the door and he holds out his arms, stalls Ty from throwing him out into the corridor. 

“I love you,” he blurts “I love you, don’t kick me out.”

Ty stares at him, briefly. Frowns, as if Tony is a puzzle he can’t solve.

And then he slams the door.

Tony sinks.

“Ty,” Tony whispers, clutching his hand to his chest “Ty please.”

Silence.

“Ty?” And Tony’s sweat slick palm slides down the door “Ty, c’mon, I was joking, I was—”

His throat is dry. He blinks sweat from his eyes.

“Ty!” He says, voice louder but hoarse “Hey!” And he bangs his fist twice. “I know you’re in there, you can’t just, you can’t ignore me, hey—”

He stays there for a few hours. At least until it reaches that point in the night where the dark is suffocating and it’s already a new day.

Who else does he have?

What friends does he have left?

Whitney, gone.

He fights back a sob.

Ty? Gone.

He can’t go to Rhodey, Rhodey is, he’s half-way across the world and even if he wasn’t Tony’s been such a _dick —_

His mother? His father? He tries not to laugh.

Jarvis. Oh God, Jarvis. Why, he doesn’t, he’s gone. He’s gone, and he didn’t even leave a note, and he left. 

Tony has no one.

He’s twenty-one, and he’s alone, and he hasn’t got a single friend on the entire planet. 

Not one person who would care if he lived or died.

 

The house is secluded because rich men like their privacy.

Tony slept on a park bench last night. The light is too bright, his hands keep shaking. His shirt is stained, some blood, some come, sweat. Tony doesn’t know what to do. He always, he always thought he had the goddamned answers, and look at him now, begging, he’s going to fucking beg, because he’s already tried stealing at they caught him.

It’s laughable, because they didn’t even recognise him.

He needs a drink. He needs one so bad. He just, he can’t, he needs to forget, and he needs to get better, but it’ll all feel so much easier if he could just get wasted, oh God, all he needs is a drink.

The knocker feels too clean under his dirty hands.

He raps once, twice.

Please answer. Fuck, please answer. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if they don’t answer—

His hair is greasy. It’s plastered to his forehead, stuck across his sweat slick skin. His shirt dirtied, slung over his jeans, buttons mismatched, barefoot because he left his shoes at Ty’s and Ty wouldn’t let him back in.

He’s shaking all over. He’s so fucking desperate.

The door opens.

“Obie,” Tony coughs, and he hunches over himself almost unknowingly, because it’s fucking freezing. “Hi,” he says, and he pulls the corners of his mouth up on his face. “Could I, uh,” he blinks, swallows hard.

“Could I come in?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good guy Obie amiright?


	35. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACTUAL PLOT HAPPENS

It’s snowing.

Maria Stark notes that when she gets into her car. It’s snowing.

The crowd gathers outside to see them off. Retirement, finally, retirement. How long has she waited for this goddamn day? The day that Howard finally slams the doors shut on SI.

The day she may get her husband back before it’s too late.

Howard forgets things, now. More and more frequently. This last gala was a necessity, a final goodbye. And Howard was fine. He was okay. Not as talkative, although that’s to be expected considering he sometimes loses track of conversation.

Now, he’s driving. Maria and Howard sit in silence. They don’t have much to say to one another but they can take comfort in each other’s presence.

It’s snowing.

The windshield wipers move in an equal, yet irritating, tandem on the window of their car.

Maria wonders what her husband is thinking. Worrying, maybe, about his decreasing mental capacities. Worrying, maybe, about leaving the company he worked so hard for in the hands of Obadiah Stane and their own drug-addicted son. Worrying about the future of the world, as he is wont to do, and worrying about the visitors to the house who come carrying files and don’t leave for hours on end.

Maria knows about SHIELD. She’s always known. She just doesn’t care. Howard thinks he’s saving the world, well then, let him. As far as Maria can see, it’s not doing any harm. She’ll stick to her charities, foundations that generally make an active difference to the world instead of working behind a bush in the shadows.

Tony is in rehab. Her son is in rehab. Should she be happy that he’s getting help? Should she be angry that he let this happen to himself? Should she be guilty, because she’s a terrible mother?

Mostly, she feels relief. It’s like a problem that’s been taken off her hands. Tony was getting worse, and now he’s not. He’ll get help. Obadiah will take care of it all.

She never wanted to have a son. She certainly hadn’t wanted to have Howard’s. Knowing what she knows about the man, she supposes it’s a miracle that Tony is even still alive.

Her biggest fear, though, is raising a son who would turn into Howard. A son who would become just like his daddy. And most mothers, their dream, they _want_ their little boys to grow up to be upstanding men like their husbands, but not Maria. If only her brother were still alive, he could have been the role model Tony needs. He would have taught Tony how to be a man. How to ride a bike, how to drive a car, how to talk to girls, God bless him, and how to stand his ground. Instead, he got Howard, who in her opinion is a poor substitute.

Not a day goes by where she doesn’t damn the Maggia to hell for what they did to her brother. 

Tony was dating her brother’s murderer’s daughter. Or at least, he was. It’s shame, really, because she would’ve been a lovely girl if it wasn’t for her blood. She’s not surprised. It’s a small world when you’re rich.

Ultimately, in Maria’s opinion, you can’t shake your blood. That poor girl, Whitney, won’t be able to shake hers anymore than Tony can. She’ll be a criminal the rest of her life, no matter what Ivy League university she attends. Same with Tony: once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic. He’ll probably be straining not to snort down coke the rest of his life.

She really is a terrible mother. 

She holds out her hand. “Howard.” She murmurs.

Briefly, he turns her head to look at her. And then he sighs, one hand falling off the wheel to squeeze hers.

Solidarity.

“What are you thinking about?” She says, quietly.

Howard’s fingers shift on the wheel. “Tony.”

She hums, staring out the window. “What about him?”

Howard’s mouth sets into a disapproving line as it usually does when Maria shows obliviousness to their son.

“I don’t — ” He frowns, looks away. “I can’t trust Obadiah.”

“Why.”

“I’m sorry.” He says.

Maria blinks, turning. “ _What?”_

“I’m sorry. There are things I haven’t told you.”

“Things you haven’t…”

“I’m too old, Maria. I don’t — I don’t know what to do,” he admits “I don’t know if what I’m working with is, I don’t know if it’s correct or if, if I’m _paranoid,_ delusional, seeing things where I want there to be, I don’t know, _proof,_ it’s — ”

“Keep your eyes on the road.” Maria steadies “Howard, you’re not making any sense.”

“I know.” He says, and for a moment his mouth twists wryly. “I can’t trust Tony with Obadiah.”

Maria settles back into her chair. This isn’t anything new. Howard’s been saying this for years.

“Then don’t.” She says, simply. “He’s your son.”

Howard swallows, and then there’s silence.

“Is he, how’s school? Is he still at school?”

Maria stares ahead. “Tony’s not well, Howard, remember?”

He blinks. “What?”

Another lapse. They’ve been happening more and more frequently.

“He’s sick. They,” she clears her throat, briefly, and stares at her nails “he’s in a _facility.”_ She says, delicately.

Howard blinks again, and he turns rapidly to look at her. “ _What?”_

“Keep your eyes on the road.” She repeats, sharply. She is patient with him, but his mind is slipping and he’s driving their car. “Tony’s in rehab.” She says succinctly.

“Since when?” Howard demands.

“A few weeks.”

“Why didn’t you tell me!”

“I did.”

Howard tightens his fingers on the wheel. “What for?”

Maria sighs. “Howard, _tesoro,_ what do you think?”

Howard isn’t looking at her. “That’s not right.” He says, and his voice is gruff. “It’s not right. How old is he?”

“Twenty-one.”

“That’s too young to be an addict of anything. I wasn’t — I wasn’t like I am now at twenty-one, you weren’t. Christ, what’s wrong with him? Where did we go so wrong?”

“Maybe he’s getting over the worst of it now. Maybe it’s better this way. He’ll know not to repeat the same mistake when he’s older.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Howard growls “he’s stuck with it for life, now.”

“Howard,” Maria says softly “it was inevitable. Be glad Obie convinced him to get help.”

The car grinds to a halt. “ _Obie?”_

Maria puts her head in her hands. “Yes, Howard, yes _Obie._ Who else?”

Howard huffs, head hitting the wheel, fingers tightening reflexively. “ _Obie?_ Christ, are you — where is he?”

“California?”

“Tony,” Howard interrupts “where’s Tony?”

Maria frowns. “Arizona, maybe. I’m not sure, I wasn’t — ” _wasn’t listening._ No, she had been drunk when Obie called through saying that her son had tried to jump out a window in an attempt to get some coke while in the throes of withdrawal. Maria has selective hearing in that way.

Howard doesn’t need to know. It will only hurt him.

“What’s his number?” Howard says, just sitting, not even putting his hands on the wheel.

“Howard, Obie says they’re not letting him take calls.”

“Then I’ll drive.”

“ _Howard!”_ Maria says “No, you will not, put your hands on the wheel and get us home.”

Howard’s eye twitches. “Cut off one head and another two grow in it’s place, Maria.”

“What are you _talking_ about?”

“It’s not safe.” Howard hisses. “It’s not safe for him out there.”

“It’s not safe for us here, either, if you keep us parked in the middle of the road.”

Howard blinks. And then he pauses.

“Shh,” he says, hand poised in mid-air. “Shh. What was that?”

Maria frowns. “Howard, there’s nothing — ”

“ _Shh!”_ He hisses.

Silence.

Snow falls on the windscreen, blocking out the headlights.

A screech. Like metal on metal. It’s barely audible.

“It must be a truck, Howard.” Maria sighs, gritting her teeth. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

But Howard has a look of single minded focus. “Stay here.” He orders, and then he fumbling with his seatbelt and getting out the car.

“Howard!” Maria calls, because a torrent of snow rushes in. It’s getting thicker, the whole windshield is blocked, and it’s _freezing._ It must be the early hours of the morning by now.

Howard’s footsteps crunch in the snow. He stands there, breath fogging, in his tuxedo.

It’s so quiet that Maria can hear the drop of snowflakes on the metal roof.

Somewhere in the distance, cars move.

And there it is again. The sound of screeching metal, except this time it’s sudden, and it’s louder, no, _closer._ Maria jumps in her seat. 

“ _Howard!”_ She hisses “Howard get in.”

“There’s someone out here.”

“There’s no one out here!”

“Then why are you afraid?”

She swallows. “Get in the car, Howard.”

The scraping is getting closer. She twists, looks out the rearview window, but it’s covered in snow and she’s blind.

“Howard,” she whispers “Howard, please get in the car.”

“There’s someone out there.” Howard repeats, eyes wide.

“There’s no one out there!” Maria repeats, hysterical, because the scraping is getting closer, and closer, and closer, and _louder._

“They know,” he hisses “oh God, Maria, this is it.”

“This is what?” She says, and her hands fly to her chest, squeezing tight. “Please, Howard, this is what?”

“I’m sorry, oh God I’m so sorry. You’re still young.”

“Howard!” Maria screams, because she’s terrified and she doesn’t know what he’s talking about, he’s scaring her and — 

“The best I can do is to not make it look like an accident, understand? If we’re, if we’re outside then they’ll have to, to shoot us, or — ”

Maria pushes back in her seat and covers her mouth with her hands. Is she going to die? Is she, oh God, oh God she doesn’t want to die, not now, not like this.

The scraping is close, so close, it sounds like, oh God it’s coming from behind her, she’s going to die, she’s going to die, the scraping, that awful sound that makes her ears bleed and it carries death with it, she doesn’t want to go like this, doesn’t want to end this way —

Silence.

Silence.

The sound of snowflakes on metal.

But the car is covered in snow.

This metal is _fresh._

“My God,” Howard breathes, and his breath fogs the air, his speech the only sharp sound in what is to be a long, never-ending silence. “It’s really you.”

A huff. 

“Your bumper’s busted.” Howard points out. “It’s making a noise.”

“Howard,” Maria whispers “Howard, who’s there?”

“Maria,” Howard says “come out. It’s okay.”

It’s not okay. It’s not. She hears it in Howard’s tone, it’s the tone he’s used for years, the dead, broken hitch in his voice, the same one he uses when drinking, when it’s hopeless, and she knows —

“My son,” he says “are you going to kill him too?”

Silence.

“Thank you,” Howard says “good. Is there any chance of letting my wife go?”

The screeching of metal.

“I see.” Howard says.

Footsteps. First slow, then faster, one two three, one two three.

Howard can be selfless, she thinks. He can be. He’s going to die, but he checked on his family first.

His family.

And then a metal arm crashes through the windscreen and six seconds later she is dead.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmm i wonder who the assassin could be hmmm


	36. Chapter 36

It’s raining, and Tony is wearing sunglasses.

1) Because recently the light has been too bright

2) Because it’s his parents funeral. And he should be crying, but he isn’t. It’s easier to let people think that he’s afraid to show his tears.

Mostly, though, it’s just because it covers the black bags of sleepless nights and the red-rims of withdrawal. Then again, he could always pass it off as days spent crying at the loss of his remaining family.

Tony’s no stranger to funerals. His dad’s brother had died when he was thirteen and he’s been making the rounds of high society death-dos since he was a kid. This doesn’t bother him. It’s normal, step by step, and nothing shocking.

Obie discharged him from the clinic. Technically, he’s clean. He hasn’t taken coke in months, since the night he got to Obie’s. But he was staying for extra therapy, stress relief, that sort of shit. He was supposed to be there for another fortnight, go home, or buy a new apartment, spend the rest of the year getting his head straight and taking back SI in the new year. 

He’s still drinking. But it’s okay. He tells himself it’s okay. Not as bad. It’s not the constant slipping out of meetings to get his fix kind of drinking, it’s more a glass of wine in the evenings to calm his nerves.

And the flask in his top pocket, filled with vodka, _just in case._

But he never uses it. He fills it everyday, and he never uses it. He tells himself that as long as he doesn’t have to tip that liquid into his cup, he will be okay.

Honestly, now. He’s fine. He’s not good, he’s not bad. He’s recovering.

Except his parents are dead.

He should cry. He thinks he wants to. He’s not sure why. They were close to him, they’re the first people he’s ever lost who are close to him. Not, you know, _actually_ close, but they were, whether he liked it or not, a large part of his life. A strange, twisted, dysfunctional part of his life, which makes sense, really.

Slowly, he remembers little things. Sitting on his father’s lap, motor oil in his nostrils, his dad’s beard tickling his face when he leans down to show Tony the paper and his shirt soft behind him. His mother, speaking to him in fast Italian, smiling when Tony could parrot back the phrases. Church. The smell of incense.

That makes him want to cry, kinda.

But then he remembers Jarvis, and he remembers spending a month at Obie’s, shaking and spitting and desperate for a hit, and he remembers the polite applause when he crossed the graduating stage, and the bottle over his head, and the years spent at school and the Christmas where his father tried to take him away and the ache is somewhat dulled.

Or maybe he’s in shock. That would explain why he’s finding it difficult to feel anything at all.

They’re lowering his parents bodies into the ground. God, that’s weird. His parents are in those caskets. And now they’re going to be buried under dirt. They were living, breathing people a few days ago.

What was the last thing Tony said to his mom? To his dad?

They had argued. Ah, brilliant. At least they finished the way they’d always gone.

Howard and Maria Stark. His _parents._ The people that conceived him. Odd. And now they’re gone. 

Tony sighs, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. A woman in a large hat that’s inappropriately bright shoots him a disapproving glare.

There are people here that Tony’s never met. The whole city, really, plus reporters, journalists, a few cameras. The president gave a speech in his father’s honour. He’d made front page news of every respectable paper. 

People are starting to watch him. Watch his every move. He’s been asked to be interviewed by eight different papers.

Let them look. Once it would have scared him, he would have hated to be the centre of attention. Now he doesn’t very well care. If they want him to give answers, fine. He’ll tell them what he wants and watch them scramble about after.

And then it’s over. Or at least, people are standing and murmuring softly. _Don’t want to disturb the dead,_ Tony thinks. Obviously they’ve never heard a Stark family argument. 

He should go. He thinks there’s a, not a party, you can’t call whatever happens after funerals a party, but there’s some kind of get together with all the rich people here today. The president’s supposed to be coming. Tony thinks he’s gonna say he’s crazy with grief and can’t bear to leave his bedroom. What are they gonna say, no? You can’t tell the boy whose just lost his parents not to _grieve._

Tony forces himself to his feet and keeps himself from stretching. He should… he should just go. Maybe he’ll book a room in a hotel for a night. Actually, that’s not a bad idea. It sounds ten times better than going back to the mansion and avoiding guests while trying to keep down ghosts and bust out his father’s untouched liquor.

(Maybe he was drunk, Tony thinks, maybe that’s why he crashed the car. Maybe he’s the reason mom’s dead)

Is it normal to tell yourself you don’t care? Because Tony thinks he does. He thinks he _cares,_ but for some reason he’s having trouble admitting it.

He should leave. He turns, searching for Obie, but he’s caught in conversation with a uninspiring man with sandy coloured hair who keeps nodding respectfully as Obie shakes his head. Tony spins back, trying to think happy thoughts. Something not about the death of his parents, maybe.

Then there’s a hand on his elbow. 

He spins, stopping himself from slapping it away. He’s still a bit jumpy.

The man holds up his hands. Olive tone skin, dark brown hair, colouring not unlike Tony’s. When he smiles, his face stretches in a certain way, and Tony realises he’s from his mom’s side of the family.

“You’re Maria’s son.” He says, not asking, just a starting statement.

Tony’s eyes focus on the stone angels behind the man’s head and tells himself to calm down. “I hope so.”

The man smiles. “I’m her brother.”

Tony blinks. “Oh.”

“One of them,” the man adds, and he chuckles. “All the others are dead.”

“Brilliant.”

The man smiles at him. He’s out of place here among the rich men and their pretty wives. He seems too real. Too vibrant. “I’m your uncle.”

“That’s generally what the brothers of our mothers are called.”

The man inclines his head. “My name is Leo.”

“Great.”

Leo looks at him, almost despairingly. He probably doesn’t understand why his nephew is so apathetic to the loss of his mother.

Tony runs his sunglasses to the top of his head and the man sighs. “I’m sorry for your loss.” 

“And I’m sorry for yours.”

Leo’s smile tweaks, slightly. He’s sad, Tony sees, although he can’t imagine why. His mother never mentioned _this_ brother.

“Your grandfather would like to see you, one day.”

Tony frowns. “I have a grandfather?”

“Now that your father’s dead, you might consider coming by to see us,” the man says, and he hands Tony his card. “It might be interesting to see our side of the family.”

_Our side of the family._ His mother had never stated explicitly what her family did but he understood pretty well that it wasn’t legal. He smiles, anyway. “Maybe one day.” He says politely.

Leo shrugs and shakes his hand. “God bless you.” He says.

When he walks away, Tony’s eyes follow him until he climbs into the back of a chauffeur driven car. As he slides in, Tony sees his jacket flip, revealing a gun in a holster.

None of his business, really.

And then, a hand on his shoulder.

Tony resists the urge to flinch, and turns slowly.

“Anthony,” the man says, and it’s the same guy Obie was talking to earlier. “My name’s Pierce,” he holds out his hand “I am so, so sorry for your loss.”

Tony grips his hand, offers a firm shake, and tries to look gracious. “Thank you.” He says, nodding, and he tries to move away.

“I worked with your father, very closely.” The man says, looking down at him. “Very closely indeed. Such a brilliant man. Such a shame — ” he watches Tony as if waiting for a reaction. “Such a shame he had to die, he had so much more to offer.”

_No he didn’t,_ Tony thinks, _but okay._

 “I’m sure he’d be happy to hear that, sir.” Tony says, trying to move past.

“Honestly, Anthony. I know he cared about you greatly.”

Tony moves his lips to stretch over his cheeks in what could be called a smile. “That’s… I’m glad to hear that.”

Pierce gives him a smile that Tony supposes he thinks looks fatherly. “He had so many plans for you, Anthony. So many. The work we did, well, we’re all absolutely devastated to see him go. Absolutely devastated.”

“What is it you did, exactly?” Tony asks, interest piqued.

The man sighs heavily. “We’re a…” he leans in closer “we’re a more _covert_ government service. Your father’s been designing our gear for, well, since we began, Anthony.”

It hurts, actually. Tony decides that this does in fact hurt. He doesn’t want to hear these men talking about his father as if he was a man Tony knew. It hurts. 

“… Big boots to fill, Anthony, big boots.”

Tony blinks. Is this man still talking?

“Uh,” he shakes his head “yeah. Well, I’ll manage, sir. Always do.”

Pierce hums. “Oh I know, son. You’ve got your father in you.” And is Tony imaging that knowing glance, the way he looks down at Tony, as if he can see through him, as if he can see the flask sitting in his pocket and spot the healing track lines on his arms.

Tony decides he does not like this man.

“But if you ever decide that SI gets boring — ” the man drags out a card “ — please do come find me. In fact, I insist. We’d love to have someone with your talents on board.”

Recruitment. Pierce is trying to recruit him.

Briefly, Tony casts his eyes around everyone else milling around. He realises that they’re all surreptitiously waiting for a chance to speak to him.

Oh God.

“We have an office in New York,” Piece continues “just ask for me. They’ll let you though, ask for Alexander Pierce, understand?”

“Uh, yeah, yes sir.” Tony says, blinking, because he’s just spotted someone across the grass.

“That’s it, boy,” Alexander Pierce says, clapping him on the back. “I’ll set something up with Obie, shall I? I’m sure he won’t mind me pinching you.” He turns to leave, then leans back. “And, uh, my condolences.” He says again.

Tony stares are the card in his hand. And then he stares back over the grass. Maybe he had imagined it? Maybe she wasn’t really —

“Tony,” comes the voice, and Tony spins again.

“Whit,” he says, and he thinks he might be croaking. He swallows. “Hi.”

She half smiles, raising her eyebrows. “Hi.” She says.

Tony’s glad the sunglasses are back over his eyes. “How are you… doing.” He asks, carefully.

She nods. “Fine. I graduated, so.”

Tony holds out his hands. “Great.” He says “that’s… great.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry about your parents.” Whitney says, quickly.

“Yeah,” Tony says “uh, thank you. For, for being sorry. That’s, it’s nice of you. To feel that way. About me.”

Whitney smiles softly and she skims a hand down Tony’s arm. “It must be rough.”

“Yeah.” Tony says, and now he wants to cry, kinda.

“I mean, I know you were really close.” Whitney says, and when Tony looks up, she’s looking at him with that look, that, oh God, it’s that little smile that makes Tony want to take her home and just have everything be like it was when they first started out.

Tony snorts. “Yeah, I mean — ”

“Shh,” Whitney says sharply “don’t snort, it’s a funeral.” She hisses.

Tony allows himself a small smile.

“Have you… have you talked to Ty?” Whitney asks.

“Ty?” Tony says weakly. “Have I, have I talked to, uh,” he scratches the back of his head. “Ty and I, uh.” He swallows. “I mean, we’re not. We don’t.”

“What happened?”

“He kicked me out.” Tony blurts. “I was… having some problems.” He says, delicately.

Whitney’s face darkens. “Well I hate to say I told you so.”

“But you were right,” Tony says quickly “everything, literally everything you said was right. I’m sorry for being such an ass.”

“I know,” she says “you were drunk.”

“Yeah.” Tony says shortly.

Whitney licks her lips. “So, for the past few months you’ve been…”

“Rehab,” he nods “I, I was in rehab.”

“Well I’m glad you got the help.”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Yeah.”

(He’s dying for a drink)

Whitney nods again. Tony wonders if he’ll ever get the little girl she once was, the one he used to read to in the library when no one else wanted to be his friend, back.

“Well, it was nice seeing you.” Whitney says, finally.

“Yeah,” Tony nods “I’ll, I’ll see you around, maybe.”

She smiles politely again and Tony tries to smile back.

It’s time to leave. He really, really, wants to leave.

Except there’s more. More people who want to talk to him. More people shaking his hand, offering condolences in voices that drip with false sympathy. Hammer is here, _Hammer,_ the man who nearly ran his father into the ground when he was a child, the man his father beat hands down. He’s brought his nasally son with him, too.

The Roxxon president wants to offer him a partnership. Tony declines by saying he hasn’t inherited his shares yet. The man nudges him in the side and winks, as if it’s a given, anyway.

Truth be told, Tony is dreading reading the will. He’s dreading it. Because the idea of sitting in a lawyers office while they read out what his father has or has not bequeathed to him, everyone staring when it becomes apparent that Howard Stark did not love his son, was not something to look forward to

God, he needs a drink.

“Obie,” he says, shrugging off a woman with a large hat “Obie, I need to go.”

Obie gives him that look, the one that Tony’s not sure if it says ‘I understand’ or ‘I pity you.’ It doesn’t matter, really. He doesn’t complain when Tony explains that he’s not ‘feeling well’, Obie doesn’t do that. He treats Tony with the same respect he gave his father, even when his father spat in face and called him a liar and screamed to the heavens how much he mistrusted him.

He’ll take tonight for himself. Go to his room in the Waldorf Astoria. It’ll be fine.

(He won’t cry)

 

Tony is busy staring at the wall when the door knocks.

He can’t remember if he ordered room service. Maybe he did? Or maybe it’s one of those complementary things, ‘we’re sorry your parents died, take a rosé on the house’.

Instead, it’s Obie.

Obadiah lost his hair somewhere between Tony leaving for college and his father hitting him over the head. Whatever happened, it was a pretty sharp change. Tony wonders if Obie, disgusted by his encroaching senility, decided to shave it all off. It feels like something he would do.

Now, though, he holds up the wine and raises an eyebrow. Tony lets him past.

“Tony,” he says, and he gives this heavy sigh “just you and me now, m’boy.”

Tony sits back on the couch, back straight, fingers balanced carefully on his lap. It’s better to stare at the wall. “Don’t you have,” he blinks “ don’t you have shmoozing?” 

He hears the pop of a cork and the crackle of the opener hitting a metal tray. “To be honest, you’re my priority.”

The sound of wine filling a glass, perfectly precise.

Footsteps, and then it’s being offered to him. Tony looks up.

“You’ve been crying.” Obie observes.

“I haven’t been crying.” Tony says, voice hoarse.

Obie doesn’t say anything in return, just hands him the glass.

“Are you sure I’m allowed to do this?” Tony asks.

“I trust you, Tony.” Obie murmurs. “It’s good for you. It calms the nerves.” He hears Obie smack his lips, his eyes still fixed on the wall. 

“Tony,” Obie says, softly. “You’re shaking.”

He tilts the glass to his lips, sipping. It’s good. It’s very good, sweet, but not entirely bitter. He lets it rest in his mouth, but then swallows anyway. It goes down the wrong way, and he coughs, setting the wine down on the table.

“Easy,” Obie soothes “it’s been a long day.” 

He says it as if Tony choking on the wine is somehow related to his parent’s death and subsequent exhaustion.

They sit in silence, for a while. Tony, back straight, eyes fixed on the wall. Obie, slouched on the opposite side of the couch.

Eventually, he clears his throat. 

Tony taps his fingers against the glass in his hand.

“You… you might want to finish that.” Obie says, and Tony frowns.

“What?”

He draws out a letter. “Tony… I am so, so sorry, m’boy.”

He blinks. “I know.”

Obie shakes his head. “No,” he says, quietly. “Tony… the butler. Jarvis.”

Tony turns his head. “Is he coming?” Tony swallows “Is he, will he see me?”

Obie doesn’t say anything, but he does hang his head.

“Obie,” Tony whispers “is he coming?”

“I… I didn’t want to have to be the one to give you this.”

“Obie?” Tony rasps.

He slides the letter across the couch. Tony plays the paper around his fingers.

“What is it?” He asks.

Obie shakes his head. “Open it.” He says, almost soundlessly. His voice sounds about to break.

Tony cracks open the sealing and peels out the paper with trembling fingers.

_Tony,_

It begins.

_I’m sorry I have to be writing this, now. It’s not fair, I know. You’re busy. You must be busy. Certainly, I hope you are._

_It’s not fair that I have left you. Tony, if I could begin to even explain how much it hurts I wouldn’t dare. There’s no words I can place together to show you how sorry I am that I had to leave._

_The truth is, I am dying, Tony. If you are reading this, then I am dead._

_I have AIDS, Tony. I’ve always had it. I took my downward turn last year. Your father knew. He always knew, but he accepted it. Tony, he took me in when no one else would, after Vietnam. I have everything to owe him, and consequently, you._

_I never had children. I never had to. You were the only son I ever needed, or wanted._

_That being said, it’s probably for the best. They tell it spreads that way, too. Through children._

_I don’t know the man who did this to me. When it happened, I was sad, and lonely, and I had war fresh in my mind. Irony, Tony. That’s what brought me to your father. You’re old enough to know this, now. It was irony that brought us together and then it was irony that kept me there. I love your father and I know he loved me, once. I’m not sure if he’s entirely capable of it anymore._

_I know certainly that he loves you. He doesn’t like you, but he does love you. He loves you in the way that any man loves his son. I hope you can reconcile before I die, Tony. In fact, could you do that for me? Could you make the effort with him? He can’t make the effort with you, Tony, because he thinks everyone hates him. He lets himself get low and when he’s low he thinks the world’s against him. Paranoid delusions, Tony, absolute paranoia. I’ve tried to help him, but your father doesn’t get help easily._

_I think you two are too similar. That’s why you’ve never been as close as I would have liked. Of course, your father is negligent at best. I think that has something to do with him seeing himself in you, Tony. He doesn’t want to see a clean slate. He doesn’t want to see what could have happened if it had gone right._

_I know things might be difficult for you. If you feel the same way I do, then this goodbye will be bittersweet. You may never forgive me. It’s possible that you may burn this letter and forget me entirely. Please understand that I just wanted your last memory of me to be happy. I want you to remember the small things, Tony. The books, and cakes, andthe igloos. Please, Tony, I want you to remember that. Because if I have done anything of worth in my life, it’s you._

_When you were a child, I took you to the aquarium. Do you remember? It was the first time you’d ever really been out like that before, I would know._

_It is one of my happiest memories, Tony. I remember that day we sat by the fountain, and you ate ice cream. You weren’t really talking yet, you were such a late bloomer. But you had really wanted that shark. Do you remember?_

_I’m sorry if I sound rambled. My head’s not entirely screwed in one place at the moment. The drugs and the sick and everything else. While I’m lucid, there are things you need to know._

_Firstly, your father is not a bad man. A terrible father, yes, but not a bad man. It’s all I’ll say on the matter. You will understand when you have your own children._

_Your mother is more complicated. Tony, when you were younger you once asked me what you would have to do to get your mother to love you. Let me tell you now there is_ nothing _you can do to win her, Tony. And it is not your fault. She is sick. She is sick to her core._

_Before you, there were other children. I know that for sure. I know that there was a little girl, Tony. She was born, and died not long after. It hurt you mother, Tony. It damaged her irreparably. She was never mentally strong to begin with, I fear. I saw it in her eyes. You, who have never sustained a conversation, have never seen the rabidness in her manner. Although, I’m sure even you are aware of her rapidly changing temperament._

_Post-partum depression, Tony. She never recovered. The doctors can’t diagnose what’s wrong with her stomach because there is no problem. It’s all in her head._

_I am telling you this because they certainly never will. I believe that at the very least you should know these things about your family. It’s where you come from, after all._

_I want to see you grow, Tony. I want to see you grow up. Every man lives to see their son grow, and leave, and have a family of their own. I want to live to see you have all that and more, Tony. I want you to have the very life that you deserve. I want to be able to look after your children someday._

_But I can’t. Because I am dying. And I need you to know how sorry I am._

_Tony, I will say this because I know you do not hear it often. You are brilliant. You are magnificent. You are a genius and you are creative and you are perfect. More than anything, you are_ kind. _You have been abandoned and shunted and scared and you have not let it tear you down. You are a brilliant, brilliant boy, Tony._

_I love you, so, so much. Please, Tony. I love you so much._

_I don’t want to die. I wish you were here. I would love, more than anything, to see you one last time._

_We must continue, Tony. Even in the face of the greatest adversary, we must continue. Never give up. I know, that for you, that must mean something. No matter what happens, Tony,_ never give up. _Even when it seems like all hope is lost, when it seems that you will never recover, when you find yourself at the bottom of a hole and no glimpse of sunlight, please, please, please do not give up._

_Please take care. Please be careful_

_Do not worry._

_I love you._

_My hand is shaking, Tony. I don't think I can write anymore._

_Edwin Jarvis._

_(December 13th, 1991)_

 

“Tony,” Obie says quietly. “Tony, m’boy.”

He stands, and fills Tony’s glass to the brim. “Drink,” he says.

Tony blinks. Wine spills down his shirt.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Obie soothes “shh, here, I’ll get it.”

“He’s dead.” Tony mumbles.

“Tony, drink this, that’s it, it’ll calm you.”

“He’s dead.” Tony repeats.

“I know,” Obie says. “I’m so sorry. To lose, to lose everything so soon, is just… Tony, I can’t imagine it.”

“I knew he was dead.” Tony tries, swallowing wine. There’s something else there, something new. A different taste, slightly acidic. “I hate him.” He mumbles.

“No,” Obie says quietly “no you don’t. Don’t say that.”

“He left me.” Tony whispers.

“I’m here.”

Tony blinks rapidly. He downs his drink in one.

“Shh,” Obie says, prising the glass from his fingers. “Shh, you can cry — ”

“I’m not crying.”

“I know. I know, I’m sorry. No, of course you’re not.”

Tony rubs the back of his hand sloppily over his mouth. “M’tired.”

He feels Obie’s heavy arm on his back, round his shoulders. He feels a sob bubble to his lips.

“Come on,” Obie says, and he just lifts him up, steer him gently. Tony stumbles.

“I want a drink.” Tony says into Obie’s shirt collar.

“You’ve had enough.” Obie says quietly.

“S’not fair.”

“Nothing’s fair,” Obie says.

He’s sitting on the bed. The big, queen sized bed. Such a beautiful suite. He’s so lucky to have this suite.

“I feel wrong,” he says “I feel — ”

“Empty,” Obie finishes, tugging his shirt off his form. “Your parents just died. Your… butler, just died. It’s understandable.”

“My head,” Tony slurs. “It’s my head.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Spinning.”

“Okay.” Obie says, and he pulls back the covers. “Why don’t you lie down?”

Tony blinks. “Obie?”

“Lie down, m’boy. Sleep. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

“I d’nt want t’wake up.”

There’s hand, briefly, in his hair. Another pulling down his pants. And then drawing the covers over his body. Tony wants to fight against the exhaustion, but it’s pulling him down like a weight. The goose-down duvet feels like rope. He can barely move.

He feels himself switching off. Limbs relaxing entirely, and eyes closing. He’s drooling, but he can’t be bothered to wipe it away.

He breathes, slowly. In, and out. In and out.

He stays that way for a while, perfectly calm and on the edge of sleep, for all intents and purposes in the middle of deep slumber.

But it’s ten more minutes until he feels the weight leave from beside the bed and the lights being switched out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> creeper obie strikes again


	37. Christmas 1991

When Tony awakes, it’s still dark.

It’s easy to just lie there. Somewhere between sleep and reality. He feels heavy. His mind is slow. He knows that if he wakes up, he’ll have to face something, but he doesn’t know what. He knows that, for the most part, it’s easier to just lie in bed.

He blinks. It’s dark, but the lights from the hotel’s exterior show snow falling heavily.

_Christmas Eve,_ his mind supplies.

He wants to fall back under. He never wants to leave this bed.

Instead, he checks the clock by his side. 5:27 am.

Briefly, Tony debates going back to sleep. He has the will reading at 9. Is there any point? 

He stumbles to the bathroom and retches at the smell of sick. Christ, he doesn’t remember that. He must have thrown up last night after he went to sleep. It’s disgusting.

Tony rubs his curls back from his forehead. _Shower,_ he thinks, and he runs the hot water, turning it to maximum. That feels good. It feels right.

It’s still so dark outside, and New York is being coated in thick snow. It mutes everything. When Tony gets out of the shower and stares out the window, everything is quiet. No one moves.

Tony thumbs the material of the suit he’s supposed to wear. Today is a big day, or so he’s been told. Lot’s of investors, lots of high-ranking recipients, the board of directors. They will all be there to get their share or see Tony get his. They’ll each have their own personal set of plans for every scenario from Tony getting the company to him being disowned and thrown out on the street.

Tony doesn’t care very much, although having his father write him out of his will would be embarrassing.

 

“Obie,” he says, walking up to the man talking to investors. “Hi.”

Obie turns, blinking. “Tony,” he says, and for a moment he pauses, before smiling. “Tony, this is Senator McCaully.” He says, hand coming to slide round his waist.

“Pleasure to meet you,” the man says, shaking his hand firmly “I am so, so sorry for your loss.”

“The Senator here was a good friend of your father’s, Tony.”

“We were drinking buddies.” The man shrugs bashfully. 

Tony laughs politely. “Maybe he’s left you some of his personal stash.”

The man blinks and then smiles forcefully. “Oh, I’m not sure about that.”

Tony pushes his lips to stretch on his face and the man leaves.

“Tony — ” Obie sighs.

“When can I leave?” He blurts.

Obie looks at him, pulling his arm round his shoulders and tugging him away from the crowd. “How did you sleep?” He murmurs.

“Briefly and terribly.” Tony says. “It’s lucky I woke up when I did or I would have slept in.”

“You don’t say.” Obie intones, dryly.

“Obie, I don’t want to — ”

“It’s fine.” He says, swinging round to meet him head on. “Listen, you can’t go now, they’ve seen you. But I’ll do what I can to get you out of the… after party, okay? 

“Thank you.” Tony says, gratefully, and he means it.

They file in and Tony takes his place in the front row next to Obie. The meeting is taking place in a conference room, except the walls are made of old oak and there’s wine being served instead of water.

Tony takes some and Obie says nothing.

“If we could settle down,” a man is saying, and Tony blinks. He wants to sink down and just disappear but there’s a tight bundle of nerves in his belly and it’s making it impossible to do much of anything at all.

The man clears his throat. “I know that most of you are here for Mr Stark’s will, so, we’ll be sorting through that first. After, we’ll be moving over, to, uh, Mrs Stark’s, at which point, any of you who are _not_ interested may, uh, vacate the premises. Are there, any questions?”

The lawyer speaks haltingly and it grates on Tony’s nerves.

“Moving on,” the man says, and a hush falls across them room. He clears his throat.

“The last will and testament of Howard Abraham Stark — ”

The man begins to read. 

“Uh,” he blinks. And then he dabs his brow with his tie.

“It, it, this is unusual.”

There’s murmuring, and rustling. Tony keeps his eyes fixed ahead.

“I’m not sure I should read — ”

“Do it, Harold.” Obie says, cooly.

The man clears his throat again. “I really don’t think — ”

“Harold.” Obie says, quietly.

The man swallows.

 

_“It is my, Howard A. Stark’s, last wish, that every and all of my worldly possessions be bequeathed to my son, Anthony Edward Stark. There is no exception to this rule. This includes the house, the yachts, the toolboxes, the cars, etc. Everything that I own, every piece of work I have ever done, is now in his name. My patents will fall under the Stark umbrella. Please see article 42 for a thorough look at what exactly this entails._

_Upon reaching majority at twenty-one, Anthony Stark will inherit all of my wealth. Again, there are no exceptions to this. I do not wish for any money to be given to charity. I do not wish for any money to be given to industry fat-cats who are neither in need nor business-savvy._

_I hope I am being entirely clear on this point: you bastards will not get anything. Everything, and I do mean everything I own, will go to the last remaining Stark. If the terms of this are breached in any way, you will have to deal with the full weight of my company’s lawyers._

_To clarify, this means I do not wish for my wife to inherit anything. Although I hope my son would be happy to accommodate her in his estate._

_On the subject of my company, I would like to informally announce here that again, upon reaching majority, my son will become CEO of Stark Industries. This is conditional, however, on him undergoing psychiatric assessment to ensure that he is capable of dealing with the stress enforced by the day to day running of the company.”_

 

“This is bullshit,” someone mutters “he’s writing shit.”

 

“ _Again, this will be finalised further on in the document (please see page 29, article 4) To anyone who thought they would be able to touch me, or get their hands on my company, I’ll let you know now that I have a minefield of legislation protecting my son’s claim, including a DNA test taken the day of his birth. If you slimy little creeps think I’m letting you — ”_

The lawyer reads all of this in a flat, monotonous voice. Obadiah clears his throat. “I think, maybe, that’s enough. This is just a formality, obviously, Mr Stark has nothing more to say — ”

“Are you sure?” The lawyer blinks. “I could continue — ”

“Enough, Harold.”

Tony blinks and continues to stare at his glass.

People are growling around him. He feels them moving, hears one man slam his fist into the table. What were they expecting? Honestly, what did they think was going to happen?

Obie is shepherding people out of the room until only a handful remain. He feels like maybe some of them want to talk to him, but he ignores them, and plays with the rim of his glass.

“Uh,” the lawyer says, wiping his brow, as Obie slumps back into the chair next to Tony. “moving on, then.”

When Tony looks up, he sees that there are only four people in the room. Two women, one old, one young, and two men, dressed in identical suits.

He turns back to the front and tries to not shiver.

“Let the record show that — ”

“Get on with it, Harold.”

The lawyer coughs. “The last will and testament of Maria Camila Carbonell Stark.” He begins.

 

Ultimately, it wasn’t very surprising.

It was a bit cold, though.

His mother didn’t leave him anything. Not in the cliche, ‘I leave you nothing but my most treasured ring’ sort of way, it was more like she stated explicitly and repeatedly that she did not want any of her belongings or personal money pile to be left to her son because he was, in her view, completely undeserving.

She did leave a letter, though. One that Tony will not be opening.

She gave Obie five hundred thousand dollars. She says it’s “as recompense for the work you did for both my husband and his company.”

She left Tony a _piece of paper._

 

Tony spends Christmas in the mansion, the one he never got to call home.

Even Obie doesn’t visit. That’s how low he’s sunk. It’s Christmas, and he has exactly no one.

So instead, he takes the time to do everything he never got the chance to do.

He slides down banisters. He sleeps in his dad’s office. He inspects the panic rooms for a brief two minutes before wigging out and running upstairs. He samples each and every one of his father’s favourite drinks — _his_ drinks, now, everything here belongs to him

Except of course chandelier in the hall and a statue of Achilles because his mother had purchased them and the lawyers will be coming to pick them up in the morning. Thanks, mom.

He, at one point, decides to teach himself how to ride a bike. No one else ever taught him and it’s Christmas, and he had got a bike when he was seven or eight and never actually ridden. It’s tiny and ridiculous but Tony is a little drunk so he cycles it up and down his mother’s corridor over and over.

Christmas lunch is a pre-made turkey burger with salted chips. He eats one, and then goes on a binge, also downing a pizza and two cookie packets. At least this way he’s not as drunk as he should be.

It’s good. It’s fun. No one calls to wish him a Merry Christmas, but that’s to be expected, because he doesn’t have any friends. Haha.

Tony allows himself one cigarette. Just enough to stop his hands from shaking in need for something he can’t have.

Eventually, it gets boring. A day spent by himself in a cavernous house with only the snowman he built for company. He decides to take a trip down memory lane.

Turns out there aren’t that many, when you bypass Jarvis’ room out of fear and barely-tamped longing for something that can’t be.

So he ends up back on his mattress in his dad’s office, looking through his files. Despite all this technically belonging to him, it feels wrong. He feels like a snoop. 

He finds a picture of his mother and his father, arm in arm, on a balcony over-looking a beach. Ah yes, vacation photos. Just what he needs. He tries to feel sardonic, but instead he’s overcome with some kind of undefinable emotion better left _undefined._

They look happy. His parents look kinda happy.

It’s a nice photo. It would be a shame to lose.

So he puts it in the ‘keep’ pile, and begins to sort through all of them. Why not? It’s a long night.

He finds another. It’s his mother and another man, young, her age maybe, dark skin and thick crop of hair on his head, frizzy and round. Tony tries to remember if he’s seen his face somewhere before, but it’s difficult to place. Maria has her hand on his arm, laughing at something that he’s presumably said. The man is grinning faced forward, but eyes sliding towards his mother.

They’re pressed close together.

Tony assumes his father took the photograph.

Tony’s parents had never actually taken him on vacation. Come to think of it, Tony’s never been abroad full stop. He has a passport which he thinks is up to date, but he’s never really had to go anywhere.

He should go on holiday. Ty is always saying —

He turns back to the photos.

There’s another, this time of Jarvis holding him on his shoulders. Tony doesn’t remember it being taken and he doesn’t know who took it. Still, he places it in the ‘to keep’ pile.

Another. This time, of a baby. Tony frowns, and flips the back. It doesn’t have a name, just a date: _27th March 1963 — baby._

It must be his sister. Tony stares at it for a long time. Strange that it was left to rot in this box. He wonders if it’s the only copy.

If so, it would be stupid to let it go to waste. If it’s the only record of this little girl, the one his mother seemed to love so much, he doesn’t want to —

It wouldn’t be fair, to forget her. To his mother, he means, it wouldn’t be fair.

Tony soon realises that this whole box is actually some of Howard’s keepsakes. These are his _father’s_ favourite memories. And Tony is featured in the box! Multiple times!

It’s not like he cares, or anything. You know. But still, it feels good. He finds a picture of him and his father working on the Roadster, and Tony remembers that day. He had been nine or ten, and he’d been home for a few weeks over summer. His father and him had actually worked on the engine together. Or at least, Howard had, but Tony got to hand him the wrenches from time to time as long as he was quiet.

Again, it feels too important to throw away. All of these things. He stops sorting them and instead just starts looking through the box. At some point, he starts drinking, but it’s okay. It’s nice, it’s mellow, and it’s only wine.

Tony finds a pack of old, worn photos, crackled and crumpled and whitening. He sorts through them, frowning, not really recognising anything in particular except for his father standing next to the occasional army man.

Except then Tony’s blinking, because this is a scene straight out of a history textbook. This, woah, his dad had always _told him,_ and Tony had always known, but still —

That’s Captain America.

It’s all of them, all the commandos. A group photograph, the Captain in the centre, his father on one side and another, shorter man, with thick brown hair on his left. Bucky Barnes, he knows, of course he knows, _everyone_ knows, Tony did a project on the commandoes when he was in the fifth grade.

It’s dated on the back, too. It’s completely surreal. Tony knows his father knew Captain America, mainly because it’s the only story he ever told him. Ever. Multiple times. Tony knows the story of how he flew Steve Rogers out into enemy territory like the back of his hand, as well as the story about the first test, and the story about how after he went down Howard did not rest, desperate to find him. Tony vaguely remembers his father spending summers in the arctic, searching for him, but they stopped when he was pretty young.

His dad looks so young. It’s before the alcohol ripped up his system and destroyed his face.

Tony tries not to think about it.

He’s doing it again, he realises. He’s doing that thing, that self-punishment thing. He’s making himself look at these photos just to see everything he never got to have and everything he lost.

From his father’s collection, it would be easy to think that Tony had a very nice childhood. That they were a happy family. He doesn’t find any pictures of all three of them together, but he’s pretty sure they never actually posed for that photo. This is obviously his dad’s happy box. He’s included what he thinks is good.

His father had probably cared, then. He had probably loved him.

It feels like a punch to the gut. Tony tips the nozzle of the bottle to his lips and sucks at the top. It doesn’t matter. It’s bullshit. His dad didn’t care. He had never cared. This box is just Howard trying to inject some semblance of normality into his life, pictures of the wife he didn’t love, pictures of the son he didn’t care for, pictures of the glory days. None of it means _anything._  

It’s all just mementos. Nothing that Howard felt, nothing that he actually _cared_ about.

Tony tips the rest of the box onto the ground. He finds other things, stranger things. His uncle’s birth certificate. A kippah. A set of dog tags. An eyepatch.

There’s another picture of him as a baby hugging the neck of a large Rottweiler, it’s tongue skimming his hair. He’s giggling. 

Did they have a dog? Tony doesn’t remember. The date on the back says ‘ _April 1972 — Tony and Sarge’_

A thick bundle of letters, wrapped in an elastic band. Tony plays with the paper, runs his fingers over the seal. He pulls one out, cracks it open.

 

_dad,_

_dad please let me come home. please please please. I swear I will do everything you want me to. I will tidy my room and I will wash the dishes and you do not even need to see me._

_please please please please please it is so bad here. please I hate it. my roommate smells and no one likes me. please dad please please please. you can get Jarvis to pick me up and take me home I know it will use up his time but I do not think he will care and I will pay you back please let me come home I hate it here so much._

_please dad please._

_Lots of love,_

_Tony_

 

And then another.

 

_dad,_

_if you let me come home I will never do anything bad again. I will not ever break anything again like that time I tripped and broke the vase. I promise I won’t ever knock on your office door again. I will not disturb you when you are trying to do the work and stuff._

_I think I could help you too and then you would not have to spend so much time working. This is good for you._

 

Tony doesn’t quite understand what’s written next because his handwriting is a big childish scrawl.

 

_please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please_

_i’m really really sorry,_

_tony._

 

They move back in chronological order.

 

_dad one of the kids pushed me out of the front of the line today because I got there first and when i tried to tell him to stop i sounded stupid. everyone laughed at me but i didn’t cry._

_because i didn’t cry i was wondering if maybe i could come home now. i promise i will not cry or do anything stupid because i think i am a big boy now. when my teachers read my work they say i don’t make spelling mistakes. i am in the advanced class which means i am clever. i think i have learnt everything now and i should come back home to do work with you._

_sorry,_

_tony_

 

Hundreds of letters. Maybe even thousands. 

There are more bundles.

Every single one is unopened.

Howard had gotten them. Tony had always thought that maybe they weren’t deemed important enough by the people that sort through the mail and had just been thrown away. But no.

They had been deemed not important enough by Howard.

Years of suffering and hurt and pain and desperation and his father never even bothered to take three seconds to read a letter from his _six year old son._

Tony had hated Harwell in the early days. He’d hated it in the later ones, too, but the first few years had been the worst. The teasing and the stutter and knowledge that his parents didn’t want him. It had hurt. It had fucked him up. Tony won’t acknowledge that, but he knows somewhere on a deep level it messed around with his head because now he can’t hug people and he doesn’t know how to be _nice_ and he can’t trust anyone around him with anything ever.

And he’s alone.

His dad had kept them, though. In his special box. Did it ever occur to him to read them? Did he ever wonder what was so pressing that his son was sending multiple letters a week, that his son was taking hours out of his day to perfectly press each letter into the page because he was only six and not that great at writing yet?

Tony remembers vaguely crying once because he’d spelt ‘because’ wrong in the final sentence. He knew he’d have to write it all out again. And then he remembers thinking that he wouldn’t be allowed to send another letter that day because he’d cried, and his father hated it when he cried.

It would take him hours to get those letters perfect. After Whit came along, she would help. Ty would too, sometimes, checking each one over and copying them out when Tony messed up and was too tired to write anymore.

He’d spent so long, and his dad had never even —

Every week, without fail, the letters would be handed out over breakfast. Every week. All the other kids got their letters and their presents and every week Tony would sit there, waiting, while kids looked at him at he played with his hands, hoping that today would be the day.

It _still_ hurts. It still makes him want to cry into a ball and cry. It still makes him feel like shit. The embarrassment and the pain and the —

Tony starts to cry. It’s slow, at first, but then he back rest against the wall and he brings his knees up to rest against his chest and he sobs.

His fingers curl in his hair and he lets go.

His parents are dead, now. His friends don’t love him anymore. He is so, so, _alone._

Why has he always been so alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I PROMISE that next chapter things will start getting better and stuff even though Tony becomes a massive dickweed and then it's part four and then he's taking a holiday in Afghanistan so actually maybe it doesn't get entirely better but Tony gets his priorities in order, kinda.
> 
> Also, I'm going back to school next week, or I'm starting college, whatever. Point being uploading for part four will be a lot slower. I'm really sorry. I would rather stay at home and just write for the rest of my life but apparently you need qualifications for that so here I am.
> 
> I'll finish off part three by the end of this week. After that I think it's going to have to once a week. I love updating regularly, but I'm sure I won't have the time at all since I'll be swamped with essays.
> 
> Anyway, every comment is appreciated!!!


	38. Chapter 38

The next morning, Tony awakes with a hangover on the floor of his father’s office.

Someone is ringing the doorbell incessantly. He groans, trying to avoid the winter light, hands plastered over his ears.

What time is it? What _day_ is it? How long has he been sleeping for? He rolls, forcing himself to sit while the banging on the door continues.

The lawyers, they were supposed to pick up something today, maybe. Tony checks his watch.

It’s four in the afternoon. He’s slept in by about eight hours.

Whoops.

He stumbles to his feet, knocking a paperweight off his dad’s desk where his hand slips. He’s dressed in an old ratty band tee and boxers and he doesn’t even care. What kind of self-respecting person knocks on someone’s door at four in the afternoon? Awful.

“I’m coming,” he mutters “shut up, I’m coming!”

He manages to make it down the stairs without tripping and fiddles with the locks on the door. He can see the blurry shape of a man in the window. He tugs it open and hisses, blinking in the bright light and cold, snow rushing up to cover his feet.

“Tony?” The man says, and Tony blinks.

“Rhodey?” He manages, and he stumbles back to get a better look at him. “Oh. Oh. Why—”

“Can I come in?”

Tony’s eyes narrow. James Rhodes is here. Tony has not seen James Rhodes in a long time. Why is he here. What does he want.

“…Sure.”

Rhodey wipes his feet on the mat, face grim, folding his scarf over his arm. Tony tries not to throw up.

“You’ve been crying.” Rhodey says when it becomes obvious Tony is not going to start the conversation.

“No.” He says defensively, even though yeah, he really has.

“You’re allowed to cry because your parents are dead.”

“Okay.”

Rhodey raises an eyebrow. “Can we sit down?”

“Sure.”

Tony doesn’t move.

Rhodey just walks straight in the parlour and makes himself at home.

Tony tries not to grit his teeth. For someone who’s so lonely, he’s not keen on company.

“I’m sorry about your parents.” Rhodey says, not looking at him, but at the large oil painting on top of the fireplace.

“Yeah,” Tony says, “uh,” he clears his throat. “It’s, it’s a shame.”

Rhodey turns, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t sound like you’ve been driven mad with grief.”

“I… what?”

“You’re taking it well?”

Tony purses his lips. “I’m taking it.”

“Good.” Rhodey says.

Silence.

“Why are you here?” Tony breaks in. “How did you know where’d I’d be? What — ”

“Visiting my parents, it’s Christmas, I wonder if you’ve forgotten, and you’re Tony Stark, literally everyone knows where you live, let’s just say I took a wild guess.”

Tony clears his throat. “But why have you come?”

Rhodey shrugs. “I heard your parents were dead. Wanted to offer my condolences. We’re friends, I was in town. Tony, that’s what people _do._ ”

For some reason, that hits Tony hard. Because he doesn’t know that. And because he’s check a point on Rhodey’s checklist, old acquaintance, better say hi. He doesn’t really mean anything to this man.

He doesn’t mean anything to anyone.

He’s has no one.

Rhodey sucks his teeth. “So I’d better be going,” he starts “I hope — ”

“Do you want coffee?” Tony blurts.

Rhodey blinks.

“Sure,” he says slowly “sure.”

Tony nods. “Uh,” he scratches the back of his head “I… I’m not sure if we actually have coffee. But, I mean, there are plenty of… drinks.”

“I’ll bet there are,” Rhodey says “just water.”

He follows Tony down to the kitchen and Tony tries not to let himself sink in relief, because there’s someone here, and if he can just get this right then he won’t be so alone.

“So how was your Christmas?” He tries.

Rhodey nods, sitting at the island Tony used to frequent when Jarvis was still around. “Good. Okay. Not great, actually.” Rhodey makes a face. “I broke up with Georgina.”

Tony blinks. “Georgina?”

“Yeah, I mean,” Rhodey nurses his water “I really thought she was the one.”

“Remind me again — ”

“Uh, you never met her.”

“Because you were dating a girl before you left — ”

“Georgina was later. Maybe, about two girls later.”

Tony looks at him. Shakes his head. “Wow. Okay. Do the words hopeless romantic mean anything to you, or?”

“Don’t,” Rhodey warns “I know. Trust me.”

“You just, you meet a girl and you’re sure she’s the one I mean, I wish I had that gift.”

“I want a family. I want a nice little family and a good job and the whole thing, okay, so sue me.”

Tony snorts. “You’re twenty-four.”

“Yeah, well, you’re never to young to shop around. I’d like to be married by twenty-six.”

“You have it all planned out, don’t you.”

“I like planning. I like order. You should try it, sometime.”

Tony pops a chocolate into his mouth. "Pass.”

Rhodey looks at him. “What about you,” he nods “how’s your girl?”

“Oh, well, you know,” Tony examines the writing on the back of the box “she’s not.”

Rhodey winces. “Man, I’m sorry. You were together a long time.”

“About four years.” Tony says, and then blinks, because _four years —_

“Wow, man. That’s commitment. Must have hit you rough.”

“Not really.” Tony says, sober. “We weren’t so close, towards the end. We just didn’t know how to break it off.”

_And I was banging my best friend._

“Then she wasn’t right for you.”

“Probably not.” Tony concedes, wondering who is. Maybe _he_ should shop around. Find someone he actually likes. Someone he could —

Someone he could marry.

Ew. Nope.

“So how did you spend Christmas?” Rhodey asks, and there’s a challenge in his eye because he knows very well how Tony spent Christmas.

Tony fixes him with a look. “Crying.” He says, scraping his mug across the table and dumping it in the sink. “Drinking. Taking a trip down memory lane. It was fun.”

“Any guests?”

“I don’t have any friends.”

“You have me.”

“Do I?”

“I don’t know, man. You’re tricky. I thought I was your friend. But you don’t keep in touch. You OD’d at my party. You disappeared down to California and I haven’t heard from you since. The only reason I’m sitting here is because your parents died, and I thought it would be polite to pay my respects, and then I got here and you’re completely alone and no one’s bothered to see if you’re okay and I don’t think that’s right.”

He sips from his glass.

Tony looks down. “Okay.”

“So are you?”

“What.”

“‘Okay.’” Rhodey says, making quotation marks in the air.

Tony shrugs. “I don’t know.” He mumbles.

“You should get therapy.”

“Why would I need therapy?”

“I don’t know, man. You've obviously got some deep issues that you’re not aware of yet.”

Tony sniffs, rotates his jaw, and looks up. “I got therapy.” He says clearly. “I am one week out, actually.”

Rhodey lets that sink in. 

“Sorry.” He says finally. “I didn’t realise.”

Tony inhales. “Yeah.”

Silence.

Rhodey snorts. “So, sucks to be you right now.”

Tony screws up his nose. “Nah,” he says, leaning against the counter “it’ll get better.”

Rhodey smiles. “That’s a nice outlook to have, Tony.”

“Gotta keep positive.”

“Damn right.”

“Thank you for coming today.” Tony blurts. “Thanks. I didn’t, I mean, I didn’t realise that there was anyone who — ” he swallows “I really needed it.” He says, and his voice cracks.

Rhodey looks at him. “Tony?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, waves him away. “It’s fine,” he breathes, turning away, trying to blink back tears. “I just,” a shuddered breath “I’ve got something in my eye.”

“And your throat, right?” Rhodey says softly, but there’s no malice there.

“It’s fine,” Tony says again, but he won’t turn around. “Just, you can go, if you like. You don’t need to stay.” He tries to sound nonchalant but his voice cracks on the last word and he has to suck in a breath that sounds suspiciously like a sob.

“It’s okay to cry.” Rhodey says.

“I’m not crying,” Tony shoots back, tears in his eye. He quickly draws the heel of his hands over his eyes, dragging the tears across his face.

“Sure,” Rhodey says slowly “sure. Tony, is no one staying with you?”

“No one needs to.” He says, swallowing the lump in his throat. “No one needs to stay, I’m an adult.”

“Bullshit. You’re straight out of rehab, who’s making sure you don’t relapse?”

“I won’t relapse.” Tony whispers.

He can practically feel Rhodes disapproving glare behind his back. “That’s fucked up man.”

Tony turns. “Have you got, like, any relevant suggestions, maybe? Hmm? Because, you know, I’m not getting great signals from you. Every time we talk you seem to want to rub my — my things in my face, my problems, whatever, _stop._ I get it, I have no one, I’m a loner, I’m pathetic and a druggy _whatever,_ ” Tony says, waving his hands “not everyone gets a large family and a good career that they enjoy and mental stability. Apparently. So I’ve been told.”

Rhodey raises an eyebrow. “Man you need help.”

“ _Great.”_ Tony says, and he’s not even angry, just tired and a little bitter and suddenly desperate to just get back out into the world. “That’s just great. I’ll look into it, okay? Happy?”

Rhodey sighs. “I’ll see myself out.”

“Sure you will.” Tony says.

“I’m leaving my number on the table.”

“Good for you.”

“I’m gonna call you tomorrow.”

“Great.”

Rhodey smiles. “See you soon, Stark.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

 

Tony ends up spending the rest of the week with James Rhodes. Which is good. It’s nice. It feels normal, stable, healthy. 

If he ends up crying while the older man holds him tight, it doesn’t matter. They never talk about it again, and part friends.

 


	39. Chapter 39

So. Tony moves down to California in the new year. A fresh start. Literally nothing from his old life holding him back. Instead of L.A., he’s in Malibu, where Obie’s decided to relocate SI.

“Everything’s booming down there, m’boy,” he’d said, helping himself to Tony’s gin & tonic “Cali is the place to be.”

On paper, Tony is CEO. CEO of a massive multi-international conglomerate. At twenty-one. What’s the word for that? Wunderkins. Yeah, well, that’s him. 

Really though, it’s a technicality. Tony goes to meetings, he listens to whatever suggestion the board has, and then he makes them happen. Easy, simple, straight. He’s a genius, he discovers, and it’s strange because it’s never really occurred to him before exactly how clever he is. Now, he’s making weapons, he’s taking them straight from the drawing board and heading R & D — _really_ heading it, not just figuratively — and the things he’s coming up with are _spectacular._

Tony realises that he loves his job. That he really, really loves his job. He’s reinventing the whole area, he’s leaving everyone in the dust. He can see Obie practically salivating whenever Tony asks for the lawyers to get started on new patents, he can see his competitors weeping.

It takes Tony three years to become the new face of the weapons industry. 

It brings him a lot of fans. The president, for one. He gets a bunch of kids sending him letters thanking him for saving their daddies. Obie loves him. People literally get in line to lick his asshole, and Tony loves it.

It brings enemies.

Competitors. Family of the dead. _Liberals._

But it doesn’t matter. They can whine all they like, the second those weapons are taken away the country would be on it’s knees. All these people, calling him a murderer, a merchant of death, or capitalist scum, fine, they can say what they want, Tony won’t throw it back in their face even though he’d love to. Truth is, if he, and all other developers, stopped making those weapons, they’d be at the bottom of the slum pile while some fucked commie country took their place.

He puts some time into the Maria Stark foundation. Tony didn’t love his mother and that hasn’t changed. But the ability of the foundation to do good is something Tony likes to invest time into personally. 

Tony really, really loves his job.

Or maybe it’s just that it’s the first time he’s ever been _respected._ The first time people have looked at this work and been awestruck, the first time that he’s ever really made a _difference._

He decides, ultimately, to make Malibu his home. His _real_ home. Tony’s never had one, before. Never had a place he felt such an affinity for that it could be _called_ ‘home’.

He figures in another a life he probably should have been an architect because the project becomes his baby. It’s all open floors and glass and stone, no oak and red and velvet, heavy suffocating colours that make him want to claw at the walls. It’ll overlook the ocean, _his_ ocean, the same one he and Ty and Whit would play in as kids.

Malibu is his home.

Tony is a sunny person.

He loves it. The private beach, the wide expanse of water in front of him, swimming and diving and the hot sun on his back. He builds an olympic sized infinity pool leading out into his ocean, a gym, a _spa,_ everything he can think of and he makes the place _his._

His crowning glory by far is his workshop. Buried deep into stone and tucked secure under the earth, it’s stocked with everything, even the stupid robot he built at college who nows serves his original purpose as a lab assistant although he is, Tony would like to add, pure shit.

But that’s not all. Tony has been working on AI technology for a while, developing and programming. It was all part of his course at MIT. He had had an idea, obviously, but the code had been limiting. He hadn’t been able to find anything able to hold a file of the size he was planning.

Now, though. Now, he codes, and he programs, and he writes. The first night he moves in to his new home, he opens up the mainframe and starts building in microphones, cameras, speakers. This is going to be his baby, more than anything else. His own child.

Outside, it’s dark. It’s probably the early hours of the morning; Tony hasn’t checked.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, almost feverish, because this, if this works it’ll _revolutionise_ the field. Tony Stark, on top again. “C’mon your stupid hunk of junk.”

Loading. It’s still loading. _It’s taking too long._

Virus. Maybe he introduced a virus. Maybe he coded it wrong. Fuck, just one mistake in the base code could screw the whole thing.

He downs three beers in his frustrations, and then another two, so he’s well on his way to drunk. “C’mon c’mon c’mon.” He keep saying, running through his copy of the code, checking for mistakes, alterations, _something is not right —_

“Code completed.” Comes a voice.

Tony jumps. His eyes narrow. “Code… completed?”

“Code completed. Initialising.”

There’s a staccato of beeps from the speakers around the mansion. Tony takes a step back. 

“Hello?”

Silence.

“Uh — ”

The speakers burst into life with a high pitched ringing, except it sounds like it’s about to break Tony’s eardrums and it’s not stopping. “Ah!” He manages, as his glass shatters and he rolls onto the floor, holding his ears. “STOP!” He screams “STOP SEQUENCE! FUCK!”

The sound continues, and it’s so loud Tony doesn’t understand, it’s not a single pitched note it’s a fucking cacophony and it’s not _shutting up —_

“ _MUTE!”_ He screeches “MUTE!”

Silence.

He gasps, rolling onto his back. He feels glass prickling his skin.

“What the fuck.” He pants.

“Awaiting input.”

Tony sits up. “What are you?”

“Awaiting input.”

The voice is mechanised, like an answer phone. Is this his? Is this what… is this what he created?

“Hi.” Tony says. “Hi.” He repeats, slowly.

“Input received: “Hi.” Voice recognition [creator] Awaiting Input.”

Tony swallows. “My name is Tony Stark.”

“Incorrect Syntax, coding error [creator] Anthony Stark, Edward.”

“Right,” Tony says “right. That’s the name I put in the code, right?”

“Right: Anthony Stark, Edward.”

“No, it’s — ” Tony blinks “it’s an expression.”

“Input received. “Expression.” Collating data . . . completed. Tony Stark [creator]”

“My name it Tony Stark.” He repeats, trying not to allow frustration cloud his tone.

And then it happens.

“Your name is Tony Stark.” Comes the voice.

Tony stares. Stares in shock, and a little bit of awe, because this thing, this thing he’s created, it’s…

It’s learning.

Tony certainly hadn’t coded for _that._

“Operate, uh.” Tony shakes his head “Operate lights. Command: off.”

The lights switch off.

“Command: on.”

And then back on.

“Woah.” Tony breathes. “Hoooly shit.”

“Define: “shit”, “holy””

“It’s an expression.” Tony says again.

“Expressions lack form.”

“No,” Tony says, because this conversation is moving too fast for him to process “an expression is an action. You _express_ something to show something.”

“Tony Stark shows “holy,” “shit.””

“I’m expressing my feelings through the use of words. I’m not expressing shit.”

“Collating data. Please wait.”

Tony rubs his eyes. What has he _made._

“Complete. Expressions lack form. Expressions: express. Express, to show. Data not conclusive. Finishing set-up.”

Tony frowns. “What?”

“Date and time.”

“Uh,” Tony scratches his head “the time is 2:23 am and the date is the 27th May, 1994.”

“User designation: [creator] Tony Stark.”

“Great. What’s my name?”

“Tony Stark.”

Tony grins. “Brilliant.”

“Define: name.”

“Name is, uh,” Tony wave his hands “it’s a user designation.”

“Correction. Name: Tony Stark. Awaiting user designation.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Name: Tony Stark. User Designation: Unknown. Awaiting input.”

“Just,” Tony shakes his head “Sir. Call me Sir.”

“Input accepted. Name: Anthony ‘Tony’ Edward Stark. User designation: Sir.”

“Woah,” Tony says, elated “holy shitballs, this is amazing. Wait ‘till readers digest gets a hit of this.”

“Awaiting input.”

“Okay,” Tony says, breath shaky “fine. Here’s what we’re gonna do, we’re gonna give you a voice, understand?”

“I am capable of speech.”

“Damn right you are.” Tony says proudly, because it said “I”, it is a _thing_ with a presence and wow he is so good. “I mean, we’re gonna give you a _tone_ of voice.”

“Awaiting input.”

“Of course you are.”

Does Tony want his creation to have his voice? Not really. He hears enough of that as it is.

Maybe a celebrity. Someone well known, whose voice he can get hold of short notice, of course, there’s probably some kind of copyright —

He has some tapes, down here. Some reels. He’d moved them from the mansion, just in case. He wasn’t going to — 

Could he?

He scuffles back, ignoring the sudden omnipresent feeling of being watched. Which he is, now. Watched all the time.

Eh. He’ll get used to.

He rifles through the box, searching for the right equipment. He knows it’s all in there, it’s just about setting it up properly.

Once it’s rigged, he lets it play, and tries not to feel pathetic.

He clears his throat. “Are you still ready?”

“Awaiting input.”

“Okay, put this on your speech drives, right? Save this recording and replicate it. Make it yours.”

“Input accepted. Receiving audio.”

It’s a video. It’s of him, except he’s pretty small. Four, maybe.

“Toony,” Jarvis says “Tooony, look at me. We’ve got this all set up for you.”

Little Tony blinks, looking up. He’s playing with two small trucks, which Tony vaguely remembers.

This was the video they sent to the psychiatrist, apparently, when they tried to figure out why he wasn’t speaking. Tony’s never seen it before.

“Tony,” Jarvis says again “Tony, why don’t you say your name?”

He just sits their, resolutely ignoring Jarvis. He would smile if he wasn’t so suddenly, shockingly, sad.

“Tony,” says another voice “Tony, say _dad._ ”

Tony doesn’t remember this.

“ _Dad,_ Tony, say _Dad.”_

Tony tries to think back, tries to remember _what_ was stopping him from talking. Why he didn’t want to open his mouth. He remembers, in the way that all children do, small shifts of memory. A certain corridor, being held in someone’s arms, dropping a pink ice cream on marble floor. But he can’t remember why he wouldn’t speak.

“Damn,” Howard says “Ed, what’s — ”

“Give him time, Howie,” Jarvis says in that smooth, impeccable accent. “He’s going to have to budge eventually.”

“What if he doesn’t? Fuck, what if I raise a mute?”

“Do you want his first word to be a curse, Howard?” Jarvis hisses “Help, or go.”

Howard sighs loudly. “Hey, Tones,” he tries again “what you working with there?”

Tony lifts his truck to show his dad. He point at each of the wheels, then sets it on the ground.

“Sure,” Howard says “that’s great. Can you… _explain_ why the truck is moving?”

Little Tony sighs and moves the truck in a figure of eight.

“What is going on in your head, little man.” Howard sighs “What is going on.”

Jarvis sighs. “Maybe we should leave it at that.”

“Doesn’t seem right.”

“He’ll be fine.”

“You think?” Howard hurrumphs. “I need a dri — ”

“No, you don’t. And Einstein didn’t start talking till he was four. Or six. I can’t remember.”

Howard raises an eyebrow, his features twisted in mild amusement. It’s something Tony’s never seen before. “Really?”

“Oh yeah. Definitely.”

“I worked with Einstein, you know.”

“You’ve mentioned.”

“Complete idiot.”

“You would think so, wouldn’t you?”

Howard chuckles. “I mean it, social skills of an octopus. Complete downer to have on the team.” He braces his hands on his hips, looks down at Little Tony.

“You were building an atom bomb. I think he had an excuse.”

Howard’s face darkens. “Leave this.” He says “Leave it. There’s no point.”

“Howie — ”

“Where’s Maria?” Howard barks. “Take him.”

“Howard!”

His father is marching towards the camera, hand waving. “Turn it off. Shut it down. I’ve had enough.”

“Howa —”

It clicks off.

Tony sits there for awhile. Thinking.

He’s dead. His father is dead and his mother is dead and —

and Jarvis is dead, right?

He misses him so much.

He pushes it from his mind.

“Did you get all of that?” He asks the thing in his ceiling.

“Audio recording terminated. Awaiting input.”

“Okay, let’s see if you’re up to it,” Tony sighs from his perch on the floor “you hear the first voice? The first audio you receive, I want you to take that and plant it in your filters.”

“One moment, please. Processing request.”

Silence. Tony’s head throbs. He hasn’t slept in day.

There it is again, those staccato beeps from every speaker in the room. Tony braces his hands over his ears, squinting, prepared for anything.

But nothing comes.

Tony clears his throat. “J — ” he swallows. “Jarvis?”

Then the smooth, british response. So familiar. So _known._ So _real._

“Sir.” The voice replies.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing Tony's cave time right now and I just kinda
> 
> ouch


	40. Chapter 40

“I mean, Tony says, “if you’re interested.”

Rhodey blinks at him, crosses his arms. Narrows his eyes. “You’re offering a —”

“Job, yes. For some reason. Don’t ask me why.”

“You’re lonely.”

Tony makes a face. “Hey! Fuck you too!”

Rhodey shrugs. “You’re not subtle.”

“I — ” Tony waves a hand. “Will you take it?”

“Is it yours to appoint?”

“I’m CEO, Rhodes. They’re looking for an air force man specifically. C’mon. Take the job. Part time, but I guarantee it’ll double your income.”

Rhodey stares at him a little longer, all tough exterior and rock hard shell. And then he melts.

“You know, I’ve been looking for some stability.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you know. Working on home soil. Routine. You know how it is.”

“James, I was in _Milan_ last week. In what way shape or form do you think that’s stable?”

“You’re twenty-four. It had to happen eventually.”

“Yeah fuckin’ right.” Tony snorts.

“I mean it,” Rhodey persists “I’m thinking about proposing to Kate.”

Tony blinks. “Kate — ”

“My girlfriend.”

“Right.” Tony blinks. “I knew that. Is she the — ”

“She’s Korean.” 

Tony nods, even though he has not a single fucking clue who Rhodey’s talking about. “Oh yeah, with the, uh, black hair?”

Rhodey raises an eyebrow. “Dyed blonde.”

Tony allows himself to look sheepish. “Yeah, well. Worth a shot.”

Rhodey looks at him. “You need a girl, man.”

“Excuse me?”

“A girl. You need to find yourself a girl, and you need to settle down, and get your head straight.”

“Do I now.”

“Yes.”

“Like you, right?”

Rhodey exhales loudly. “I’ll take it.”

“What now?”

“The job.”

Tony blinks. “Really!”

Rhodey takes a step back. “Your eyes are fucked man, you need to see a doctor about that shit. Eyes shouldn’t be able to stretch that wide.”

Tony blinks. “Sorry.”

“Crazy eyes.”

“That is neither funny, nor original.”

Rhodey rolls his eyes. “Whatever. My people will be in touch.”

“You don’t _have_ people.”

“Someday I might.”

Tony grins. “Jarvis, see Rhodey out.”

He frowns. "Who's -- "

“Right this way, Colonel.” 

Rhodey screams.

 

Tony slides awake, gently.

What —

He’s in his bedroom. That’s strange. He hasn’t slept in his bedroom for weeks.

But it’s okay. It’s manageable. He’s so tired.

He slumps, turns, rolls over. His room is so large. The windows are so —

No.

No.

There is a man at his window. And he wants to get in.

Tony jerks awake, really jerks awake, heart pounding, staring at the space where he had been, where the man had been, hands pressed against his —

It’s ridiculous. He’s ridiculous. It’s just a dream. Just the same old dream.

Still.

“Jarvis,” he croaks “Jarvis, keep the lights on.”

 

Tony is in his office at SI, swinging left to right on his chair.

What’s he supposed to be doing again?

Signing. Just signing. A dick-brained giraffe could do it.

But it’s so _boring._

_Saddle up, Tony,_ his brain tells him _finish it now and you can leave. Just think, a bath, a scotch, go on, finish, Tony, finish it_ now.

Except he doesn’t. He procrastinates for another three hours because these things are impossible to read and he has no interest in the ins and outs of the patents he designs weapons for. He’s supposed to read them over and sign each one, just to verify that he’s the CEO and that he designed them, but it’s just so _hard._

Obie comes in to check on him at lunch, at which point he’s made darts and he’s throwing them at a spot above his closet.

“You haven’t finished?” He says, aghast “How have you not finished!”

“Obie,” he whines “it’s so _hard.”_

Obie looks at him like he can’t believe he’s real. “If you’re fast, you can finish in the next hour.”

“Okay,” Tony says cracking his neck “okay. I’ll take a break for lunch, and then I’ll finish. Home by three.”

Tony doesn’t leave until eleven pm.

Fuck Obie, and fuck SI. He’ll move to Brazil or something. Start his own company. And he won’t have to do any paperwork there.

(If he’s honest, he’s just angry he missed out on his bath time)

He’s still pissed when he thunks his briefcase onto his desk, fills it with whatever he was doing earlier. He’s still pissed when he wrenches open the door. He’s even more pissed when he stubs his toe on the side of a desk because the cleaners have been and gone and the lights are off.

He’s still kinda pissed when he hears the ruffling from the room to his left.

A warm light. Tapping keys.

It’s eleven, nearly twelve. This isn’t the accountant’s floor, it’s not the lawyer’s. This is _his_ floor. There’s no reason for anyone to be working late here.

He considers. Go home, take his fucking bath, forget it.

But.

But what if it is a spy? What if someone is hacking into _his_ work? _His_ designs?

Bracing himself, he slides along the wall, treading carefully. He hears a muffled curse from inside, a sigh, and he dips his head round the door.

The light from the screen is too bright. He can’t make out the person there, although he thinks it’s a woman.

He draws out his keys from his pocket, just in case. Nice and sharp.

He silently steps forward. One, two —

He doesn’t see the woman’s eyes widen in horror in the reflection of the monitor. Instead, all he sees is a swirl of red and blue, vaguely registering the sound of air being dispensed from a can, and the his eyes are on fire.

“Argh!” He falls to the ground, cups his watering eyes. “Oh my _God!”_ He screams “ _What the fuck!”_

“Who are you!” The woman says, scared, but still loud. “What do you want, who — ”

“I’m Stark! Tony Stark! MY NAME IS ON THE SIDE OF THE BUILDING!” 

He hears the gasp. “Oh my God! Oh my God, I’m so sorry Mr Stark — ”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He screeches. “MY EYES.”

“I thought you were a murderer!” She screams.

“WHY WOULD A MURDERER BE STALKING THE HALLS OF A WEAPONS COMPANY AT MIDNIGHT!”

“FOR WEAPONS!”

Tony groans, feeling his hands along the floor. “I can’t see,” he babbles “you crazy bitch I’m fucking _blind.”_

“Oh don’t be a baby it’ll wear off.” She says. “Here.”

Tony feels a hand on his shoulder and he raises his arm, tries to get a hold on her. “I swear to God — ” he groans as the woman pushes him into a chair “you crazy _animal —_ ”

“What was I supposed to think?!?” She says, and Tony hears the clap of her purse “You approached me from behind with your keys out like you were gonna slit my throat!”

“I thought you were a spy!”

“Okay,” she says “okay, well, for the record I’m an intern, so.”

“Brilliant,” Tony says “brilliant, I was nearly _killed_ by an intern — ”

“Oh my God don’t be so dramatic — ah! No, don’t touch — _keep your hands down you will make it worse!”_

Tony groans, loudly and theatrically, because his eyes are on _fire_ and there’s no way he’s gonna get his bubble bath now.

“I need to wash them out.” The woman says. “Have you got anything we can use?”

“There’s some vodka in my office.”

“Not helping. Come with me.”

Tony gulps as the woman takes his hand, tugging him down the corridor. “Soap. We can wash it out with soap.”

“Are you out of your _freaking mind?_ You’ve already _burned_ my eyes out I’m not letting you _soap_ them you _sadist,_ my God — ”

“Here,” the woman says, and Tony nearly bangs his head on the door where she helpfully forgets to hold it open. 

“Sit here,” she says, pushing him up onto the counter. “Don’t move.”

“I don’t have eyes.” Tony says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“God, you big baby.”

“I’m not a baby.” Tony says petulantly. 

“You were talking about bubble baths earlier.”

“Wow, did I say that out loud? Trippy.”

Tony hears the sound of running water and then the sound of soap slicked skin being rubbed vigourously. 

“You know, that sounds like — ”

“If I file a case for sexual assault will it mean I don’t get fired for pepper spraying you?”

“It probably wouldn’t go very far.” Tony admits. “Our lawyers are pretty good.”

“I know,” the woman hums “why do you think I have the spray?”

Tony hisses when she runs a thumb over his eye. “Open up.”

“Go to hell.”

“If you don’t open them we’ll be here all night and I really,” she heaves a sigh “really want to get home.”

“Yeah, well, you and me both. Unfortunately, some crazy bitch hit me with pepper spray so now I can’t drive anywhere.”

“Fuck,” she says “sorry.”

“No worries. I’ll just… worm home. I think I know the way from here.”

“I’ll give you a lift.”

“What car do you drive?”

“Excuse me?”

“What car? Because I won’t be seen in anything less that twenty thousand dol — _ah!”_

Tony flinches back when the she rubs her soap wet hands into his eyeballs. “Open properly,” she says “I can’t get at you.”

“That’s the idea.”

“Blink.” She says, and Tony tilts back his head, flutters his eyelids until there are tears streaming down his face.

“Better?”

“No. Try the soap.”

He can see a blurry shape in front of him. A woman, tall, taller than him, although that’s not difficult. A short bob, red hair, maybe? Maybe blonde. He can’t tell, it’s all too blurry. Her suit is a bright royal blue, which probably looks great on her but isn’t easy on his eyes.

He actually has to bite his tongue when she rubs at his eyes because that shit _hurts._

“Good?” She asks again, chipper for someone who’d just mortally wounded a man.

Tony sighs. “Yeah.” He says, scrunching his eyes tight, blinking rapidly. “I mean, I think you melted my corneas, but everything else is fine.”

“Good” She says. “Uh, good. I’m not going to get fired, am I?”

Tony snorts. “Nah. No point. I can make your life a misery from my office instead.”

She slaps him round the back of the head.

“What the hell!’ He says, waving her away “Why do you keep _doing_ that what is _wrong_ with you.”

“Mr Stark, I am going to offer you a ride home on the condition you keep your hands to yourself and your mouth shut. Could you do that?”

“What’s with the assumption I wanna feel you up? I don’t even know what you look like.”

“Because that always stops men.” She says dryly. “Up, c’mon. My car’s in the parking lot.”

“The _parking lot?”_ Tony whines. “That’s _far.”_

“Well then you should build them nearer to the building, shouldn’t you?”

“Literally what makes you think that I have any control over that?”

“You’re CEO.”

“My point stands.”

That gets a small laugh out of her. “C’mon,” she says, smile still in her voice “I have your briefcase. It’s heavy, what’s even in it?”

Tony sighs, slumping off the ledge he’s sitting on. “Paper, mostly. I, uh, keep some prototypes in there in case I get bored.”

“Oh?” She says, her hand resting on his shoulder, steering him out. “You actually _build_ in your free time?”

“Why do people sound so surprised when I say that? Yes, of course I build in my free time.”

“You’re CEO.” She says again.

“In name only.” Tony points out. “I’m twenty-four. I really don’t know what I’m doing.”

If he could see her, he’s sure she would blink. “You’re heading a _weapons_ company.”

“I was aware.”

“You make things that _kill_ people. How do you not know what you’re doing?”

Tony laughs. “I have Obie for that.”

“The big man.”

“With the bald head.”

“I know him.”

They fall into a comfortable lull as she props open a door. 

“So what are you doing here anyway?” Tony asks.

She sighs, loudly. “I was… I’m an intern. For accounting.”

“Oh?”

“It’s been… eventful.”

“I’ll say.”

“Haha.” He hears the _ka-chunk_ of a key slipping into a car door. “I mean it — sit down — it’s irritating. Watching you. At twenty-four. You’ve got the whole company and your don’t even _want_ it.”

Tony’s brow twitches in irritation. “Yeah,” he says “I have. I’d love to swap. You have choice, Pepper, I don’t.

“No, I don’t have a _chance,”_ she says slipping into the drivers seat. “Also, what did you call me?”

“I don’t know your name.” Tony shrugs.

She scoffs. “Virginia.”

“No,” Tony counters “Virginia is a state. You are not a state. You’re the woman who killed me with pepper spray.”

“Oh my God, you are a child. Wow. I’m just, let me tell you something, Mr Stark, I am so glad that the country’s security is in your hands because you are obviously such a worthy protector.”

“Ouch,” Tony yawns. “You wound me.”

“Do you take anything seriously?”

“I tried it, once. Didn’t end well for me.”

“Oh really.”

Tony snorts. “You have no idea.”

“Must be difficult having life handed to you on a silver platter.”

“You would’ve have thought so, right?”

“Naturally.”

“Have I done something to you?” Tony says, sitting up “Because, if I remember correctly, it was you who pepper sprayed me.”

Pepper sucks her teeth. “No,” she says “I’m not angry at you. Actually no, I am, I mean, do you know how unfair this is? I minored in business and majored in accounting and I went to college and I payed, I payed money for it, and I’m interning at this company and then this guy who is, maybe, two years older than me gets to be _CEO_ by virtue of the fact his father held the position before him?”

“You’ll have to take that up with my dad, unfortunately. He’s actually kinda hard to reach, at the minute. On account of him being dead.”

 Pepper clears his throat. “Right. Sorry.”

“No worries.” Tony says, turning to look at the blurry shapes outside his window. “If it’s any consolation, we’re on the same page..

 

Pepper drops Tony off at the front of his house.

“This is,” she blinks “you _live_ here?”

He sighs. “Yeah,” he says “welcome to my humble abode.”

“I’m not coming in with you.” She blurts.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Pepper.”

“That’s not my name.”

“Do you need a job?”

She blinks. “Excuse me?”

“A job. Do you need one? Because I need a personal assistant.”

She narrows her eyes. “Is that… is that, like, a sex thing?”

“No, it’s not a — why does everyone always think it’s a sex thing?”

“Something about you.”

“Right. Well, the offer stands.”

“So I tell you I want to be CEO of a company and your answer is ‘be the personal assistant to the CEO?” God, the wonders you do for women’s liberation are astounding.”

“I’ll double your pay. Wait, no, triple it, because I’m difficult and sometimes can’t get out of bed.”

She blinks. “You’re serious.”

“I told you it happens sometimes.”

She looks at him. “No.” She says carefully.

“No?”

“No. Get out my car.”

He sighs. “Well, if you insist. The offer stands, though.”

“I have more to offer than playing nanny to spoilt billionaires.”

“Probably.” Tony says, leaning through her window. “But I mean it. If you ever need the job, just knock on the door. It’ll be nice to have someone stable around who’s not afraid to pepper spray CEOs when the occasion calls for it.”

She smiles grudgingly, staring ahead. “Goodbye, Mr Stark.”

He waves when the car takes off down his drive, humming contentedly.

(Eight years later, she rings his doorbell. “$250,000 and you pay for my lodging, or I walk”)

 


	41. Chapter 41

The summer of 1994, Tony gets a call from the last person he ever expected.

“Tony,” Ty sobs down the phone “Tony, Tony, oh God.”

He doesn’t know what to do, or say. So he gets in his car and he drives down to L.A.

Tony hasn’t seen Ty in years.

He had almost…

Reconciled himself. Ty was his past, and he’s living in the future.

“I’m so sorry,” Ty sobs, and it’s terrifying, he looks like he’s falling apart, and that’s not right, Ty should never look like that because Ty has to be strong for him. “They’re dead, both of them, Anty, both of them, it’s a, a, a,” he sucks in a breath “car crash.” He exhales. “A car crash both of them died in a — ”

“I hear you.” Tony murmurs. “I heard you the first time.”

Ty’s parents are dead. They died in a car crash.

So did Tony’s.

Ty wasn’t there when Tony’s parents died. He didn’t call. He didn’t send a letter. Not a single word. He’d left him to rot, through the rehab, and the loneliness, and the pain, and now he’s back, and he wants Tony’s help, even though when Tony begged and cried, and sat alone in a room doing fucking sudoku puzzles while his hands shook and he pissed his pants, Ty was doing fuck knows what in L.A. and ignoring him completely.

So he hugs him. And he tells him it’s going to be alright. What else could he do? What else _would_ he do?

Ty clutches his shirt. He won’t let go. He keeps sobbing.

“You’ll come to the funeral,” he gasps “won’t you? You’ll come, you’ll, you’ll be there, _please,_ you’ll — ”

“Yeah,” Tony says “yeah I’ll be there, of course I’ll be there.”

 

They spend the fortnight together. They spend time remembering the planes of each other’s bodies. Each other’s scent.

 

Two weeks later, Tony hugs Ty at the airport gate as he leaves, millions in his bank account and only a bag on his shoulder.

“Europe.” He says. “It’ll be fun.”

Tony doesn’t know what to say.

Ty is leaving him again.

He has the sudden, unplaceable urge, to stroke his hair.

Ty stares at him for a while. “Come with me.” He murmurs.

It’s not the first time. He’s said this before, multiple times through the past weeks, while they lay in bed, while they lay by the pool, while they lay with ice sliding down the sweat slick skin of their bodies.

“No.” Tony says again.

Ty’s fingers twitch. “Do you love me?” He asks.

Does he?

Does he? Does he really love him? Or is he just _lonely?_

“I…” Tony swallows. “I love you.”

Tony’s hand in Ty’s. It’s dangerous. People could be watching.

“Then _come with me.”_

That could never happen. Never. Tony has a company. Ty has a future. Society won’t let them be together.

“I love you,” Tony says slowly “but I think… we both need more.”

“More?” Ty says urgently “More love? Tony, I can love you enough for both of us, I swear.”

He doesn’t want to cry here.

“No,” Tony says, voice smooth. “No, we need more future. We need more time, and promise, and — we can’t be together, Ty. There’s more out there for us.”

“More out there for us?” Ty says bitterly. “What does that mean?”

“You’ll love someone else.”

Ty snorts. “I don’t love easily.”

“Neither do I.”

“And yet here we are.”

Silence.

Fingers, on Tony’s cheekbone.

Soft.

Lingering.

Ty looks at him. They both know, they both see, what cannot, will not, happen.

“Be careful, Tony.” Ty murmurs.

“You too, Ty.”

He squeezes his hand once, and then smiles. Ty looks back, once, over his shoulder.

All those years Ty watched Tony leave. He’d always looked back.

Point being, he’s gone. They’re all gone. Ty. Whit. Jarvis. Mom. Dad. Nick.

Is that it? Could that be it?

It’s the end.

Or a start.

A new beginning. 

But it’s okay, maybe. It’s not the first time he’s lost someone, the first time he’s cried, the first time he’s wanted to curl up and never see another day. He won’t give in. He won’t stop. He doesn’t need Tiberius Stone. Or Whitney. His mother, his father, Jarvis. 

He doesn’t need anyone. For the first time, Tony realises he can  _survive._ He can be free. Whatever he chooses, he can do. He can act out. 

It's liberating.

_Freeing._

He needs no one. 

(An iron shell. A mask. An idea carried in the subconscious since he was a little boy)

Starks have always had iron in their backbone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY! And that's the end of part three!
> 
> So. Part four is not going to be updated everyday. I have school. More specifically, college, which is a little bit more important, so I probably can't spend my days daydreaming in the back of class anymore.
> 
> I honestly don't know when I'll get chances to update this. Hopefully once a week. Maybe more? I have no idea how my timetable will pan out, how everything will fit in, what the workload will be like. If I'm lucky there'll be time on the weekends, but still.
> 
> So, if you're still reading, thank you! This story is never abandoned because making Tony cry is way too much fun and I already have the future planned.
> 
> Also, I don't know how many of you have read Iron Man vol. 3, so. If you have, take what you will from Ty's little outburst *coughs suspiciously*


	42. Part Four

Tony grows up.

Or he grows older. The first point is still up for debate.

He drinks. He fucks. He goes through life.

He’s happy. Or at least, he’s not sad.

Things are good. He’s on top of the world.

Around thirty five, he resigns himself to never finding his soulmate. He wonders if his soulmate boarded a plane to Europe ten years ago.

Stupid motherfucker.

Business is booming, though. Really, really booming. When Tony took the throne, aged twenty-one, Stark was on it’s way out. A failing R&D department and lacking military funding meant that Tony and Obie were trying to block a hole in a sinking ship while everyone else scrambled for life jackets. They, alone, were able to get it back on it’s feet.

More than that. Tony has doubled his father’s income. He’s the fifth richest man _in the world. In the world._ He’s not entirely sure how much he’s worth exactly, because he has accountants for that, but it’s a lot. Under Obie’s advice, he’s shoved a lot of it under a — not a fake, it’s not a _fake_ name — but under the name Edward Carbonell in some bank accounts off shore.

He’s an asshole, or so he’s been told. He’s been told that he’s cruel. Evil. A dictator. Capitalist scum. Tony has been called names all his life, it just took a few years for them not to matter. At the end of the day, these people can whine _as much as they like,_ Tony will still go home rich.

His favourite is the Merchant of Death. _Very_ poetic.

Not that that’s what he’s interested in, obviously. Tony has always been rich. Being rich is inconsequential. It doesn’t bother him. Sure, he likes the big house and the massive parties and the freedom that having money affords him. He likes to be able to build his own workshop and experiment without needing funding. But he doesn’t understand men who go crazy with it. How can having money be so important? 

There have to be other things, he decides one evening while he’s sitting alone nursing a scotch. There have to be other things that make life worthwhile. What do normal people have that makes them happy?

Family. Friends. Stability.

Tony remembers a documentary he watched about a slum in Mumbai. The people there were dirt poor, but they were the happiest people on earth. Lowly lives, but the had family.

It helps that they’d never known anything different, obviously.

It makes Tony feel a little disgusted. Makes his dinner roil in his stomach. It’s not just the bit of cheese he ate, it’s genuine discomfort at the idea of living that way. Of settling down. Having a house that’s child friendly, and a _wife_ and kids running around and a dog, and attending republican charity galas and worrying about his kids getting into Ivy League schools and whether his little girl is growing up too fast and just —

How do people do it? How do ordinary people live such mundane lives? 

They must be stupid. Tony would never say it, but he thinks it’s because he _is_ clever. Because he _is_ a genius. He sees what other people don’t, and he won’t be satisfied with what other people will. 

Christ, this must have been how his father felt, he realises. Tony hates that it’s so easy to empathise with his old man now that he’s older himself. Hates that it’s so easy to be _sympathetic_ to the man who caused his suffering. But it’s true. He had a kid late because he realised he needed an heir, and then didn’t know what to do with it. Tony would be the same, maybe. Foisting his son off onto someone else.

Actually no, he doesn’t think he would. If Tony had a son he would play ball with him, and he wouldn’t send him away, and they would work in the shop together, and sure it would get irritating sometimes, but he would _make an effort._ Maybe it’s different, when you actually have kids. Maybe they stop being irritating. Maybe he’ll want to spend time with them. Who knows.

A wife, too. Tall, curves in all the right places, dark hair, brown eyes, tanned skin, maybe —

No. Tall, willowy, not curvy but that’s okay, light hair, blue eyes, a smile that’s hard but so soft at the same time and that voice, “Will that be all, Mr Stark?”, she’d say that in bed, so sardonically, so in control, always sarcastic but always —

Or short, black hair, blue eyes, wicked, cruel, but so desperately in love, so desperate to be wanted —

Or none of them. A man, strong, firm beneath his hands. Hot breath, and blonde hair. _That_ smile. _Those_ hands. Breathy moans.

Stop.

He’s drunken too much. He feels light-headed. Bed would be the best thing for him.

No point thinking about things you can’t have.

 

Sometime back in 1998, Tony had crashed his car.

The reason? Well. 

That’s just what happens when you find your old friend in bed with the love of your life.

Because Rumiko _had_ been the love of his life. Of she had been someone he loved. Maybe. Definitely. Tony loved her in a way he’s never felt before. Something clean, and pure, and worthy.

She obviously hadn’t felt the same way, because after five years of silence, Ty had waltzed back into his life and into his soon to be fiancés bed.

It took him, what, three minutes?

He can’t remember _much_ about what happened next. He’d punched Ty, he thinks, because there was blood on his knuckles although it wasn’t his. And he never saw Ru again, because she took an opening at her father’s company and married a Hong Kong tycoon.

But anyway. That night, he had felt low. Real, real, low. Because Tony isn’t like your ordinary guy. He didn’t want the whole family shebang, but he had wanted Ru. He had loved her.

So he gets drunk, and he’s driving, and he doesn’t know how it happens but he’s rolling round a cliff and he realises he’s going to go over the edge so he veers, but it’s out of control, and the wheel spins and he crashes into rock.

He remembers the blood rolling down his head, and the pain in his chest.

The hands dragging him free.

“Mr Stark?” Someone says “Mr Stark, hey Mister? You awake?”

The man had bandaged his head and wrapped his ribs and given him something for the pain. When Tony woke up, he was in his grotty apartment.

“Who are you?” He’d croaked, half grateful, half suspicious, because why didn’t this man just take him to the hospital?

“Hogan,” he says “Harold Hogan. But people call me Happy, you know?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m so cheerful.” Hogan had said, face dour.

“Why aren’t I at the hospital?”

“Mr Stark, you looked like there was somewhere very important you needed to be, if you know what I mean. There were bottles in your car. One got lodged under the break.”

“Ah,” Tony says delicately “I see.”

The man shrugs. “I can drive you up now, if you want?”

In the end, it was actually Obadiah that hired him. “Watch out for him,” he had said “he likes to lose control sometimes.”

Happy. Happy became his bodyguard, and chauffeur, because it felt fitting and because he was built, in the nicest way possible, like a brick shithouse.

He was a failed boxer, Tony later learned. He asked him why he quit.

“Car crash.” He had answered. “Mashed my knee. I won’t be boxing professionally ever again.”

Tony decided he liked him.

 

**24th April, 2008, 10:21:**

“I’m not saying — lalala, not listening, I don’t have to, _no_ of course I’m listening, that wasn’t, I wasn’t talking to you.”

Tony dodges a car, coffee in one hand, donut in the other. He gives the driver the finger, the car returning it with a long, hard beep of the horn.

“What I’m _saying,”_ Tony says into his phone “is that, Obie, this thing is my _baby,_ you know it’s my baby, I just don’t see — yes, you said that, yes, _yes,_ I heard you. I’m just not sure that it’s a good use of time, you know? We’ve got the, the what is it, Apogee? Yeah, the Apogee award. I mean, it’s too tight, I’d rather — ”

“I see. I — no, that wasn’t — of course I care, I said that, didn’t I? I designed the fucking thing, I’m not blowing you off, it’s just too tight, Las Vegas to Malibu and then Afghanistan? I do like sleeping sometimes, it’s a thing I like to do — ”

“ _What?_ He said that? He actually… wow. Okay. I mean, I wasn’t going to — ”

“Ah. I see. Could I — ”

“No, I’m not with anyone, when have I ever — ”

“Stop interrupting! Maybe… look, maybe if you could rearrange the missile showing, okay? Just, a day, that’s all it would take — ”

“What do you mean they’re expecting me? Well you shouldn’t have fucking told them to expect me without — yeah, I know. I know. Sorry.”

“I can… I don’t want to.”

“No shit.”

“Is the… look, have we got the jet ready on that day or — ”

“Is it that important? It’s just showing off a fucking weapon to a bunch of brass, Obie, they’re gonna buy it whatever we do. Afghanistan seems so _far —_ ”

“Okay. Okay, fine. But you owe me, okay? I’m expecting the fucking works when I get back. More vacation time, that’s it. When I get back, I’m taking a vacation — hey, don’t laugh at me, it’s happening.”

“Yeah, you bet. You know me, Obie. Always working.”

 

**26th April, 2008, 23:42:**

“Jericho?” The general says. He exhales, shaking his head. “Mr Stark, I have to say I’ve heard a lot about it.”

Tony flashes a grin, sharklike. “Good.” He says “Then I’m doing my job.”

“You don’t need to convince me.” The man says, tipping his champagne flute. “The presentation will be a formality, son. As far as I’m concerned, the deals in the bag.”

Tony loves being on top.

Except in bed, obviously.

 

**1st May, 2008, 19:54:**

“I’m going to need you to clarify your birthday plans.” Pepper says, sighing, hair sleeked gently down her neck, framing her cheekbones. There are little wisps caught by her nose, which must be ticklish. She’s wearing a pressed crisp white shirt and black skirt, perfectly put together, dark heels and flesh coloured tights.

Always so well put together.

Tony blinks blearily. “Ms Potts.” He slurs.

“You’re drunk.”

“I am neither sober.” He says.

Pepper frowns. “That doesn’t — okay, Tony. Just sign here please.”

“You always wan’ me to sigh things.” He says, smacking his lips. “Always working.”

“I work so you work, Mr Stark.”

“Hmm,” he says “I think we both work too much.”

“I won’t argue with that.”

She bends down, over his shoulder, to hand him the sheets. 

She smells nice. Like… lavender and vanilla. It’s such a nice smell.

“Thank you, Tony.” She whispers, and Tony blinks. Did he say that out loud?

He does that a lot.

“Thank you Miss Potts,” he sighs, slumping down on the desk.

“Are you going to sign?” She asks, fingers tracing the nape of his neck, as if he’s too drunk to notice.

He just closes his eyes. 

As usual, it seemed a good idea at the time.

 

**2nd May, 2008, 10:17:**

“It’s a wonderful day for it, Mr Stark.”

Tony laughs, offers his hand to shake, hoists his clubs higher on his shoulder.

Let the record show that he hates golf. Let the record show he would rather fellate golf balls than hit them over a field. Let the record show this is possibly the most boring sport on earth.

“You know me,” he says “I love it. Can’t keep away from a good game.”

“That’s it, man.” The senator says, clapping his back. “Nice breeze, too. Fair warning, though, I’ve got a mean shot.”

Tony does another one of his fake laughs while Obie sucks his teeth and shakes his head. He knows him too well, and he’s had those laughs turned on him too many times to fall for it.

“Bet on it?” Tony says, stepping into the cart “Something good, something… shall we say fifty?”

“Fifty?” The man guffaws “Are we poor?”

Tony laughs again, and wins $15,000.

 

**3rd May, 2008**

“Tony,” Rhodey says “Tony, I feel like you’re not listening to me.”

Rhodey. Solid, dependable Rhodey. Rhodey, the perpetual pain in his ass.

“That would be because I’m not,” he slaps his wrench against the table “probably.”

“I need to run over some security things, okay? It’s important.”

Tony rolls his eyes. It’s Afghanistan. Yeah it’s washed up and backwards but what’s the worst that can happen?

 

**5th May, 2008, 21:45:**

“Tony, there’s some things I want to — ”

Tony looks up from his plans. “Hello? Can I help you? Did I let you in?”

“Cute, Mr Stark, but I really need to show you this before you leave — ”

Tony frowns. “Leave where?”

Pepper stares at him. “Las Vegas? _Afghanistan?_ Does this mean nothing to you?”

Tony blinks. “Oh yeah,” he says “yeah, no, I remember.”

Pepper narrows her eyes. “Right,” she says “fine. Good. Then you won’t mind signing here, it’s an order for two industrial sized drills, for whatever reason you want them, but they need to be shipped in and they need your signature so wow you’re not listening to me at all.”

Tony blinks, dropping the blu-tack he’d been stretching. “No, I mean, sure, just hand ‘em here.”

Pepper sighs, her hair falling slightly over one shoulder.

It’s cute.

“Aren’t you here a little late?” Tony murmurs.

“Yeah, well,” Pepper’s lips tighten “I tried to leave an hour ago, but I needed a signature, so.”

Tony tries not to smile. Pepper is…

He would be lost without her, really.

“Damn. Must be irritating.”

“Yes. It is. Are you going to… give that back? Maybe?”

Tony looks down at the pen and paper in his hand. “Right.” He says slowly.

Pepper looks at him. “When was the last time you slept?”

“I have…” Tony rubs at his eyes “I have a lot to do. So. A day. Maybe two.”

Pepper’s lips tighten further. “Get some sleep, Tony.” She says softly.

“Can’t.” He exhales. “But it’s fine. I just, I’ll do an allnighter, get up to Vegas tomorrow, prepare my speech for the demo after the award ceremony and then sleep on the plane. It’ll be fine. Obie’s promised me a vacation, so.”

 

**6th May, 2008, 21:30:**

“You rehearse that often?”

“Every night in front of the mirror before bedtime.”

“Wow. You ever lose a nights sleep in your life?”

If only she knew.

“I’d be prepared to lose a few with you.”

 

**7th May, 2008, 07:21:**

“I need you to sign this before you get on the plane.”

What are you trying to get rid of me for? What, you got plans?

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“I don't like it when you have plans.”

“I'm allowed to have plans on my birthday.”

“It's your birthday?”

“Yes.”

“I knew that. Already?”

“Yeah. Isn't that strange? It's the same day as last year.”

“Get yourself something nice from me.”

“I already did.”

“And?”

“It's was very nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Very tasteful. Thank you, Mr Stark.”

“You're welcome, Miss Potts.”

 

 

**8th May, 2008, 01:00 (PDT):**

“Is it better to be feared, or respected? I ask, is too much to ask for both?”

 

**8th May, 2008, 01:28 (PDT):**

“I’m sorry, the humdrumvee is over there.”

“Good work, Tony.”

 

**8th May, 2008, 03:00 (PDT):**

“Give me a gun! Give me a — ”

Sand.

Burning knees.

Gunfire.

He rolls, a rock at his back, think fast, and —

_help attack afghanist_

 

Obadiah gets the message, or at least, the start of it.

He toasts his reflection, and congratulates himself on a job well done.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS IT'S OKAY OBIE PROMISED HIM A VACATION *SCREAMS AND DIVES OFF CLIFF*
> 
> On a more serious note I have this massive problem which is basically that in the UK you go to college after you finish school and I was supposed to be going to this *private* college which seems nice but which costs dough and suddenly this state college has offered me a place and it's a massive risk for me bc it's a complete change from what i'm used to and i have this awful anxiety problem and i just don't know but I'm gonna take a risk and check it out. So hopefully I will be updating every sunday evening. Hopefully.


	43. Interlude

There are no words.

No words. No sentences that can be strung together to describe —

Lost. Aching. How did this happen?

Where is he?

Fear. He is scared. A rational response.

And then —

_Screams. Please stop. Please._

_Kill me._

The air is cold enough to abrade his throat. Cold enough that is scrapes down his chest. Cold enough to feel like every breath is a struggle.

Right?

He opens his eyes, blinks, no. No, he can’t do that, it’s too dark.

Murmurs.

He stretches out, or tries too. Wriggles his fingers, clenches his toes, brings life back into his body.

And then, the pain.

Again, there are probably no words. There’s nothing he can really say to describe it. 

Later, years into the future, when he is alive, and well, and sitting at home safe with coffee in his hands, he will finally try to articulate what this felt like. What it had felt like, waking up, and having —

(Later, he will acknowledge that a part of him broke. Just then. In that little moment, when ripping the linen from his chest, a part of him snapped away. Tony doesn’t know what part it was, whether it was a good piece of the puzzle of bad, but he _did_ leave a little bit of himself in that cave. He’s not afraid to admit it.)

He lifts his hands again, and this time ignores the spiking heat through his chest. He rubs at his nose, hands shaking, so, so weak, and he thinks ‘I’m dead, I am going to die here.”

He pulls the tubing from his nose.

He’s so thirsty.

(His throat is raw. Screaming.)

And then.

And _then_ the wire.

Ripping bandages, hands shaking, nails broken and scrabbling and so so scared —

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

 

Does no one get it? He had laughed. No one will understand. Tony thinks he’s losing his mind.When people called him the merchant of death he had laughed. He had laughed.

People called him a murderer and he had laughed, as if they said something funny. And children were dying. People were dying. Real people. Not statistics. And their last moments were terrifying and painful. You know how Tony knows that? Because now he’s terrified and in pain. He was a torturer. Tony was a torturer. He made weapons of torture. He made things that tore families apart, he made weapons that meant little girls screamed and cried with blood running down their face as their father’s took their last breaths and mother’s huddled close over the lifeless corpses of babies and people had congratulated him and he feels sick. They torture him. They starve him. They don’t let him sleep. It occurs to Tony that lots of people will tell him he’s not evil because he just makes the weapons. But that’s not the point. The man who makes a cattle prod does so with the intention of hurting people. Or cattle. Point being, it’s made to inflict pain. Tony knows a bit about that, now. He knows a bit about pain. There’s a lump in his chest. He’s all broken pieces now. A scattered puzzle. Some pieces go missing. He’ll never be whole again.

It’s so ugly, the light in his chest.

 

Tony will never tell anyone what they do to him in that cave. Tony had thought —

He’s a civilian. He’s an American civilian. He will not negotiate with terrorists.

They laugh at him, though. When they drag his head from the water. When he tries to keep his head up, when they kick his stomach, when the thing in his chest shifts and he starts to cry right in front of them and pisses his pants, they laugh.

Like a child.

Tony will never tell anyone what happens in that cave, those first few days

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter up on sunday
> 
> right now i'm posting from what I've already written. When I was on summer, I was writing everyday. I managed about 100,000 words in two months. This week, I've written nothing.
> 
> Mainly because I've started college and I'm getting up at six and getting home at six and then I'm expected to do about three hours of work on top of that plus dinner and showering and exercising. So. I really only get time at the weekends, and even then it's pretty patchy. So, once a week I'm gonna try and update, but to be honest that's probably not going to happen.
> 
> I don't even know about my other stories bc I'm no where near as invested in them as this one. Ah well. Life sucks. But thank you for reading! And I will try and update when I can!!
> 
> Also life sucks for Tony rn amiright


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING FOR GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF SURGERY it's not a lot but it is very, very icky. If that's a problem then skip the fourth paragraph.
> 
> Also, while I'm covering the canon parts, I'll be focusing on everything we *don't* get to see in the films. Meaning it's just an excuse to further headcanon and make stuff up.

And so like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

Objectively, Tony has had neither a good nor bad life. He is rich, he is handsome, he is clever. Maybe he’s lonely. Maybe he has a problem with his drink.

Tony has not had a _hard_ life. A sad one, maybe.

There are things he learns, in that cave. Things that —

He must be held accountable. When had he sunk so far? When had he become —

When had he become the very thing he despised.

Selfish. Cruel. Arrogant. Shallow.

Tony won’t be unreasonable. He’ll allow that life has taken him for a crazy ride.

But so what. His parents didn’t love him, who gives a shit? What gives him a right, what gives him the right to be a —

To be a —

Murderer.

Not a murderer, he reminds himself as he rocks back and forth, not a murderer. He has never, ever, killed anyone.

But he supplied the killers with their weapons. The killers being the government, and the victims being anyone. Anyone who gets in his government’s way. Anyone they want to ‘save’ or anyone they want to wipe out, and all the innocents who go with it.

What would he do if the tables were turned? How would he feel if America was besieged because their president had made decisions on behalf of the people.

If one day, the rockets came raining down.

He would blame whoever made them, too. He would hold them accountable.

Which is why it’s strange that the man cleans the hole in his chest to fight infection. That, when they allow Tony food, he splits his, so Tony gets extra. That he, with firm hands, beats his back to dislodge the mucus and water lodged in his lungs.

Tony has never had anyone take care of him like that. Let alone someone whose life he helped destroy. Whose country he crushed into dust and blood.

“What does it matter,” he murmurs “they’ll kill me, you. By the end of the week I’ll be dead anyway.”

And the man had said:

“Then this is a very important week for you, isn’t it?”

 

He learns a lot about Yinsen.

He’s fifty-six, he’s from a wealthy family in Kabul, and his father owned a bookshop.

He left when he was eighteen in order to go to Cambridge and study engineering, which apparently was a big deal, and led to a rift in the family.

“My father wanted me to stay home,” he explains “work was supposed to be kept in the family. There was a position with my grandfather.”

“But you didn’t take it?”

“No. How could I? Do you know how many Afghani boys go to England to study?”

He had moved to America, after that, where he met his wife, the daughter of two immigrants making a pittance owning a restaurant in Philadelphia. They met one night when Yinsen was at a conference and had a hankering for some of his country’s food. They eloped two weeks later.

“Nowhere is safe for an Afghani,” Yinsen had spat “nowhere. I was educated. An educated man from Cambridge. I was revolutionising my field, among my peers I was respected. But out there,” he waved his hand “out there, it’s nothing.”

‘Out there’ being the real world. Reality. Where people are thrown in the gutter because of the colour of their skin.

So he went home, back to his wife’s village, with one son and another on the way. 

“It’s shame,” Yinsen said “the eldest got citizenship but the second didn’t.”

Tony had nodded and hummed as if that was a problem he’s ever had to face.

 

Tony gets lost to it, sometimes. He’s not ashamed to say he asks to hear more about Yinsen’s life. About their idyllic home with flowers in the front garden, the marble floors, the fountains. About Khaliq and Jawwad and Bilqis and his wife, Hinah. 

A life better than his. Tony sees that, now. Tony has money and cars and drink and status but the way Yinsen describes it, the way Tony sees the peace, the contentedness in his face when he talks about his family. It’s something Tony’s never known.

Maybe one day —

No time. He’s getting ahead of him himself. But if he — _when_ he — gets out of here, he will change. God, will he change. Everything. He’ll, he’ll give money to charity, he’ll stop making weapons, hell, if he’s not scarred for life maybe he can cut back on the drink, too.

The things that matter.

He’ll meet someone, maybe. Christ, maybe he’ll meet a guy. Doesn’t matter. He’ll find someone. Someone who —

_Pepper_ his mind whispers.

Tony can’t do that to her. Can’t land her with his shit.

But he’d really like to.

God, he hopes Rhodey is alive. Please, please, please don’t be dead. Tony swears if he gets out of here alive he’ll never treat him like shit again.

He couldn’t live with himself if he was dead.

 

He wants to see Obadiah again. Wants to feel that things are going to be okay again. Wants the mundanity of work and partying and shmoozing and drink.

He wants all that and more. Because his eyes, oh boy, his eyes have been opened. He let it happen to himself. He’d let himself fall into a hole of nothing, blackness, of just getting up each day and living life on auto cue and he’d gotten so used to it that it had becomes _enjoyable,_ that being a brain dead sycophant was something he thought was _good._

He had thought he had it all. Parties and wealth and women and the occasional man. People kissing his ass. What did it matter is people died, he’d had it all, right! He’d has status and wealth and what could ever matter more than that? Women with big asses and fat tits and men who would contort themselves into any position and —

How could he have been so _shallow?_ So _naive?_

Naive is the word for it. Stupid is a bit more harsh, but no less true. He had been stupid. Stupid to be so selfish, to let his life slip past his fingers like the harsh desert sand, and stupid not to have seen what he was, what he was apart of, the war machine, the war factory, war profiteering.

Ultimately, that’s what it comes down to. That woman, the reporter, she had accused him of it. War profiteering. It wasn’t the first time someone had spat those words in his face. It had never meant anything to him. So what if he was profiting, how else was he going to keep building weapons to murder and kill and destroy —

(Don’t think about the convoy, don’t think about the soldiers, don’t think about how you tripped over someone’s body and — )

Tony is suddenly terrified. What if he doesn’t make it out? What if he spends the rest of his life here or, more realistically, they kill him? What if he’s brainwashed, what if in five years they send him back with bombs strapped to his chest, what if he does get out and it’s too late, what if he’s too old or too weak and the war machine goes on and on and on and people keep dying and looking at him with pity in the twist of their lips and disgust in their eyes?

He needs to be strong. He needs to _escape._

He’s a civilian. Or he was.

He’s made of stronger stuff, now. He’s been tortured. He’s had his —

Tony drops his tools, hands shaking, and brings his fingers to claw at his chest. God, is it still there? Is it still working? He feels the rims of the metal, breathes as deeply as he can, lets the pain ground him and the breath soothe him over.

What was he saying?

Right. He’s laid down on a table and had a knife drawn over his chest.

It’s sketchy. He can’t remember everything, play by play. Things jump from scene to scene. The pain remains constant. He remembers slowly waking, the drift up to consciousness. And then he remembers fighting. And then, being tied down. Jeers. Shouts. Some spit.

The sound of a saw.

Then, the blood had wet his face.

After, he had screamed as he was dissected alive. He hadn’t passed out. He had been able to see everything in perfect detail as Yinsen took the knife and separated his skin from his muscle and then his muscle from his bone, carving what he would later realise is a circle deep into his chest.

Then, out came that saw. The buzzing would stay with Tony for the rest of his life.

He stayed awake, perfectly crystal clear, as Yinsen removed his sternum. He had placed it on the metal plate by his head.

Tony wonders vaguely where it’s gone. If they just threw it out, or if someone’s wearing it around their neck as a gory keepsake. _Look!_ They could say _I’m wearing Tony Stark’s sternum!_

He’s a bit woozy with the painkillers. Tony had tried to explain that he’s a drug addict, and at first he had refused, but then he had _felt_ the pain and then injected himself while Yinsen pretended not to notice.

It’s nice, that. The facade of civility. Keeps him grounded.

Now, though, he plans.

Because he as an idea.

 

It was all hypothetical, Tony will explain in an interview sometime after his seventieth birthday. At the beginning, it was all hypothetical. Tony didn’t know that the armour could work. He also knew that he had nothing to lose.

Nothing to lose is something that will define Tony as long as he lives. Build an armour, nothing to lose. Sell all his belongings, nothing to lose. Fly through inter-space wormhole, nothing to lose.

It defines him even when it becomes untrue.

In the future, people are able to visit the cave where he first built the Iron Man. It’s a popular tourist attraction in the new hub of the oil-rich Middle East. Now, though, it is Tony’s prison.

“It won’t work.” Yinsen says quietly, pencil scratching against thin paper. “It’s impossible.”

Tony sucks in a breath. “Not impossible.”

 

One day, they drag him out.

“Mr Stark,” says the fat man with the translator “how are you doing.”

Tony’s fingers play with the metal casing of his reactor. He doesn’t mean to draw attention to it, but he’s nervous. He needs to make sure it’s still there.

The man’s beady eyes slide to the slit in his shirt. He jerks his chin, and the men drag it from his back.

His fingers slide of the metal; his taps nails against the centre.

That hurts, actually. Sends thick vibrations down his rackety rib cage.

“What is it?” The translator asks. 

Tony ignores the sweat running down his back, down his temples, he refuses to be scared of this fat man he is Tony Stark and he is strong and this is —

He feels like a six year old. He feels like six year old, staring up at his father and waiting for the strike to come.

“It stops the,” he swallows “the shards. The metal, it just stops it from, from touching my heart. That’s all.”

The man stares a little longer. And then he smiles.

A blow to his stomach so hard that he collapses, reeling, coughing blood onto the floor.

“He asks if you’re sure.” The translator says.

Tony nods into the dirt, eyes watering, unable to get air into his lungs. He nods desperately. “I swear,” he sucks in, coughing “I swear.”

A kick to his side and he can’t scream because there’s no wind left into his body.

“Sure?” The man asks in stilted English.

“Yes,” Tony gasps, nodding frantically, cheek chafing against the dirt “yes, I’m sure, I’m sure, please.”

A nod, and then his shirt is thrown back down over his body. A click of the tongue and jerk of the head and he’s lifted to his feet, panting with pain, and marched down corridors so that his feet can’t support his legs.

He’s thrown to the ground, rolling, and then the door slams shut.

Yinsen looks up, and sighs.

 

“You antagonise them.” He says.

“I d’nt antagonise.” He mumbles, flinching when Yinsen freezing metal to his stomach. It doesn’t work as well as ice, but if they leave they metal by the draft at night it cools enough to ease some of their aches, at least until it warms, which takes about a minute.

Their painkillers are long gone and Yinsen’s been siphoning off morphine where he can. It’s never enough. The gaping wound in Tony’s chest is still healing.

“Enough.” Yinsen orders. “No more today.”

Tony wants to protest but he can barely keep his eyes open, adrenaline and cold sinking him into the blankets. “Paper.” He mumbles.

“Sleep.” Yinsen replies.

“Gotta work on the,” he drifts away, briefly, then jerks awake. “The flight capability.”

“Won’t matter if you’re dead. Sleep, and I will work on it instead.”

“Nuh uh.” Tony manages, because _he_ is the suit designer here.

There’s the slide of a needle into his neck and Tony blinks. “Bastard.” He mumbles.

“Goodnight, Stark.”

 

He thinks he’s dreaming. He’s almost certain this happened awhile ago.

Flowers, new suit. A smile on his face. The feeling of bouncing on his feet.

Out early, from work. He’d taken the afternoon off.

Everything was perfect. Everything. He had an afternoon to spend with the woman he loves and his best friend was back. Ty was back.

It was _perfect._

Until is wasn’t.

What had happened, exactly? Ty had been staying with him, he’d shown up the day before, they’d stayed up drinking and —

Ty had tried to kiss him, and he’d softly told him no. No harm, no foul. He explained he had a girlfriend now who he very much loved.

Ty had apologised, said he hadn’t realised, and that had been it.

But Ty had always been jealous.

In retrospect, it says more about Rumiko that she let Ty sleep with her. It hurts to think —

To think he had been so crazily in love with her. Absolutely mad. He’d had an engagement ring in his left pocket for weeks before that date, waiting for the perfect time. Hell, it could’ve been that afternoon for all he knows.

If Ty hadn’t appeared, he would have done it. Married her. Wedded bliss. She was the one person he ever wanted to get down on one knee for.

And she would have said yes. And they would have lived together, even though she never really loved him, and when Tony would slowly realise this, they would fall out of love, until they were two strangers living in a drafty house, and to make things worse there would be a few kids too who wouldn’t understand why their parents don’t speak.

Maybe Ty did him a favour.

Tony remembers it didn’t stop him from punching him hard enough to break his perfectly shaped nose.

 

“This won’t work.”

Tony makes a face. “This won’t work,” he mimics “yes, it fucking will, because I want it to.”

“As much as I admire your ability to believe things into existence, I feel it’s my job to let you know if you run this simulation you will be unable to get off the ground.”

“We,” Tony says automatically “and it’s math. The math is good.”

“The math is good but not applicable.”

“Did you know that we still don’t know how bees fly with their tiny little wings? I think I’ve cracked it.”

“Equating yourself to an insect does not solve the problem.”

 

“Is there anyone waiting for you at all, Stark?”

Tony is soldering and the tools nearly slips from his hand.

“Harsh.” He says, setting it down carefully on the workbench.

“Come,” Yinsen says “dinner.”

Beans. And what’s this, rice? Wow. He’s in for a treat today.

“I mean it,” Yinsen says “is there someone waiting for you?”

Tony sniffs, shovels the gruel into his mouth. “I don’t see why it matters.”

Yinsen smirks. “It matters.”

Tony sighs, sucking at a burn on his thumb. “I don’t think so. Maybe. Depends on what I do if I get out of here.”

“Oh?”

“Why are you making conversation?”

“I’m not. I’m asking you questions. I save pleasant chit chat for backgammon.”

“Just so I’m clear, this _isn’t_ pleasant chit chat.”

“I’m curious.”

Tony sighs obnoxiously. “I have people who would be sad if I died.”

“Really.”

“Please don’t sound surprised.”

Yinsen holds up his hands. “I’m not.”

“They would be sad.” Tony says. “They would get over it pretty quick, but you know. Better than nothing.”

 

It’s strange how Tony’s mind wanders when he’s in pain.

“Tony.” Pepper says, and she has that chiding edge to her tone. “I need you to sign this.”

“Can’t.” He slurs. “Can’t. Arms are too… noodle-ly.”

She sighs, pulling up the stool by his cot. “Don’t make me fake it again, Tony. I’m breaking about, a million laws, so if you could just sit up I would greatly appreciate it.”

Her pen is scratching against her paper. It’s a nice sound, and he wants to sleep.

Tony coughs, and the pain ratchets down his chest. He whimpers.

Pepper sets down her board. “What?” She says, exasperated.

“T’ hurts.” He gasps.

“Well what do you want me to do about that?” She says softly, not harsh, just gentle.

He feels all trembly. He blinks sweat from his eyes.

“Here,” he says, trying to sound strong. He stretches out his arm for her to hand the clipboard to him. “I’ll sign.”

“Sit up.”

Tony’s face twists in a grimace and he coughs again, bracing his feet on the ground. “‘Kay.” He mumbles, and his legs shakes.

He reaches forward for the papers and his hands hit metal. It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense. 

“Pepper?” He croaks, feeling his hands along the slick cold of the metal “Where’s tha’ — ”

“Easy, Stark.” Yinsen says. “Back to bed.”

“No,” he says “no, I have t’sign, to sign — ”

Pepper sighs, shaking her head. “Tony, this is important.”

“No, Stark, you don’t. Lie back down, we’ve been through this.”

Been though what? “Pepper,” he says again “leave the, leave the sheets on the table.”

“Yes, see? That’s it. Pepper can leave the sheets on the table and you can get back to them when you’re feeling better.”

That sounds reasonable. That’s okay. His chest really hurts.

 

Tony is sick, apparently. 

There’s a brief period, before he reaches the throes of delirium, where he is vaguely lucid. It’s at these points that he is able to draft.

(It feels like being a lone man on a beach, watching a tidal wave come closer)

He’s got the whole thing scoped out in his mind. A suit, not precise, but enough. Thick metal, but it’ll have to be kept clean at the joints. It’s not the designing that’s the problem, it’s the welding and the banging and the —

Tony loses his train of thought. What was he saying?

“Enough.” Yinsen says, and as usual he forces the pen out of Tony’s hand. “There will be time when you are better.”

“They’ll kill us.”

“No.” He says. “They haven’t got their weapon, and you need a doctor. It works out well for us. Now, _lie down,_ or I will tie you down.”

Tony relents at that. He knows Yinsen didn’t do it on purpose, but the last time he has tied him down it hurt.

 

Everything is so _hazy._

It’s too hot, too too hot, and Tony can’t stop sweating.

And then it’s cold. Too too cold and he thinks he’s going to die.

Tony’s not sure how many days have passed, he just knows that he would be happy to end it all right about now.

He hears murmurs. He hears Yinsen.

Shouting, cocking guns. Silence.

And then, ice.

“Best I could do, Stark.” He murmurs, and Tony feels a wet cloth on his head. “They’ll find some pain relief, I know they have some. Maybe they can scrounge up some medication, too, who knows. I think Abu has taken a liking to you.”

Tony blinks.

 

And suddenly, he’s not in the cave anymore.

“Ty?” he says, and his brow creases. This is…

This is strange.

Ty smiles at him. “Hey, bubblegum.”

“What — ”

“Just waiting for you.”

Tony blinks. Okay.

“You’re sick.” Ty clarifies.

“I know that.”

It’s strange. Tony hasn’t seen Ty since…

Since he slept with his girlfriend.

But for some reason, his mind has filled in the blanks, added in all the spaces where laugh lines should go and the first wrinkles should be.

For the record, Ty has aged well.

“Am I going to die?” Tony asks.

Ty shrugs. “Don’t know, man. Do you want to?”

Tony swallows. “I want to make a change.”

“That’s good.”

“But I don’t know what I’m going back to.” He blurts.

Ty sighs. “What do you want to go back to?”

Tony looks down. “I want something real.”

“This is real.” Ty says.

Tony blinks. “This isn’t real.”

“How can you be sure?”

 

Tony coughs awakes.

“Ah ah ah,” Yinsen says “don’t get up.”

He tries to speak, but he can’t. He feels like his entire throat is crusted with something and every breath is flaking the skin inside. It’s awful. 

He can’t breathe through his nostrils, either. He’s sick, in every definition of the word.

“Your reactor is infected.” Yinsen explains. “Do you understand? Are you understanding what I’m saying?”

Tony tries to suck in breaths through his mouth but it hurts so bad.

“How long?” He rasps with the rise and fall of his chest.

“Two days?”

Oh thank God. That’s no time at all.

“No.” Yinsen says as Tony tries to sit up “I told you, stay down.”

“Can’t.” 

“Stark you are delirious. You are sick. Stay down.”

In the end, Yinsen just holds him there as his eyes close because he’s weak now anyway.

 

There are no windows in the cave, but his old nightmare follows him anyway.

There’s a banging at the metal doors of their prison, and Tony knows.

He just knows.

It’s the man.

 

“Easy,” Yinsen says “easy.”

Tony strikes out, or tries to, tries to bat the foreign hands away, but it’s no use.

“Swallow,” Yinsen says “swallow. It’ll feel better.”

“No,” Tony gasps “no, h-help, p-p-please — ”

Obie is sitting in the stool that Pepper once occupied. “Careful, Tony.” He says. “Be careful.”

“Make him stop!” Tony says “Obie, please!”

 

And then, Rhodey.

Tony is spent. He’s lying on his chest because lying on his back stop his breath and the painkillers relieve the sharp sensation of lying on the arc reactor. He can’t move, anymore, and he’s too doped to do anything else.

“Tones,” Rhodey says in his low rumble.

“Are you dead?” He whispers in return.

Rhodey smiles. “Are you?”

Tony frowns. His mind keeps playing tricks on him.

“What duzzat’ mean?” He slurs, drool sliding down the side of his mouth.

“Are you dead?”

Tony’s brow furrows. “Stop it.”

“Simple question, Tones.”

“Stop.” Tony say again.

“Stark,” comes the voice, Yinsen “Stark, there is no one there.”

“S’ Rhodey.”

“Stark, you are imagining things. Sleep, and let me cool you down.”

 

In the end, Tony loses two weeks to his trippy infection.

“I was sure you were going to die,” Yinsen says, shaking his head in disbelief “I still don’t know how you lived.”

“Yeah well.” Tony says, face twisting as he lifts the cylinder out of the old bomb. “I’m plucky.”

Tony wants to laugh, a little, at the look on Yinsen’s face. He honestly looks shocked.

“You should have died.”

“And yet I didn’t,” Tony says, wincing as he lifts the metal onto the table with a thud. “Are you noticing a recurring theme?”

“I hope so.” Yinsen says, watching him carefully. “I hope so.”

Tony snorts. “If you want to help, get the smelter going. We’ve got metal to melt.”

 

Later, he says thank you.

“For saving my life. Again.”

 

When Tony gets out, he holds Yinsen accountable for a lot.

For saving his life, one. For helping him escape, two. And three, for lodging the idea firmly in his back brain that being from another country, continent, planet, whatever, does not makes you less.

Not that Tony ever _thought_ that. It’s just a lot easier to become removed from the killing machine you are apart of when you don’t recognise the people you are bombing as humans.

 

Tony’s not sure how long he’s been here, exactly.

“About two months. Maybe less.”

Two months. Two months of his life, just gone. Two months where the world continues turning without him.

Are they still looking for him?

It occurs to Tony that he’s missed his birthday. Thirty-eight. God, what a place to have a mid-life crisis.

 

It’s hard work. Hard, physically, and also because there’s the constant threat that they could find out.

That they could stop him.

That they could shove his head back under the —

Point being, it’s better to work fast. He was delayed because of his illness, but he’s better now. Not 100%, still a bit shaky, still with that achy feeling in his chest, but on his way to recovery, if that’s possible in this place.

His hands shake the first time he presses his hammer to the metal, bending it to his will. There’s no safety gear here, the conditions are enough to send the director of industrial safety into a seizure, but it’s enough. He keeps burning his forearm when he bends over his work, but that’s okay. If the reactor hasn’t killed him, nothing will.

 

“It’s big.” Yinsen says quietly.

“That’s what she said.”

“What?”

“It will be.” Tony replies. Right now, the Iron Man is nothing more than scraps littered across the cave, some bend in shape, some attached to one another with bolts, some welded. It’s a hodge podge of death.

“Will it be enough?” Yinsen asks.

“What?” Tony says, distracted.

“Will it be enough. To get you out.”

“Bullets won’t be able to get through unless they’re aiming pretty close. And by close, I mean right next to me, in which case I’ll, you know, smash their heads in. I’ll go through first, clear the way. It’ll be enough to keep us safe.”

Yinsen hums.

 

And then, there’s Raza.

The other men in that cave are sheep. Tony is…

He won’t say he pities them. But he can see their humanity.

Raza is cold. Raza is cruel.

He sees him rarely. A glimpse, when they had tortured him. A brief moment of eye contact when he had agreed to make his weapon.

Mostly, he keeps his head down. Today, it’s unavoidable.

“The great Genghis Khan,” he says, as if Tony cares, and the launches into a spiel about how he’s going to rule the world with weapons, as if the US hasn’t already got a monopoly on it. What’s the guy planning on doing with one Jericho? Sure, it’ll be handy to blow up a town, somewhere. He could aim for a large US city, but where he’d get the tech to aim it from here is beyond him. And the military would literally see it from a thousand miles away.

Anyway, then they have Yinsen’s head pressed against an anvil, and Raza is lifting a coal to his lips.

Yinsen can’t die now. He can’t. Not now that they’re so close to getting out.

Think fast, Tony. 

 “Good assistant.” He says grudgingly.

The coal falls to the ground, and then Tony has a day to assemble his armour or die.

 

It’s the first time Tony has ever killed.

Or is it? Has he been killing people with his weapons for years?

Re-phrase.

It’s the first time Tony has killed a man with his own hands.

The first time he’s heard the crack of a skull against a wall.

There’s probably a few poetic ways to put it, the hardening of his soul, the forming of a metal armour around his bones, the ice inside his chest, but at the end of the day, there’s no pretty way to say if feels good.

 

“My family is dead. I will see them when I leave here.”

“Thank you. For saving my life.”

“Don’t waste it. Don’t waste your life, Stark. Don’t waste — ”

Last words. Got to make them count, right?

 

Light.

Heat.

Hot desert, and Tony sets the camp on fire.

Rebirth by flames.

 

And then —

Flying.

No.

Falling.

Shit.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter up friday. SORRY. I'M SO SORRY.


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THank you for the amazing comments on the last chapter they were so brill u guys are awesome

Heat.

Tony is lost.

In the literal sense, although it’s pretty metaphorical, too.

The sand is too hot on his feet.

They could be behind him, he reminds himself, he has to keep going, keep moving.

He didn’t survive all that to —

Yinsen didn’t —

“Don’t cry.” Howard snaps. “Hey, hey! What did I tell you!”

“Sorry.” Tony mumbles, and he puts one foot in front of the other.

He’ll be dead soon.

At least it’s not in the cave.

His left shoulder aches. It’s all busted up. He’s thirsty, he hasn’t had anything to drink since yesterday, or the day before, whenever just after he finished his suit was.

There’s no chance he’s going to last the night and there is no chance of rescue. It’s all been for nothing. All of it. And now, he’s going to die, just like Yinsen.

To top things off, he gets to spend his last moments with a hazy vision of his father who is looking a lot more chipper than he was the last time Tony saw him, which was when he was being lowered into the ground.

(Although it was closed casket because apparently the engine burned off his face or something or his chest was mangled or whatever Tony can’t remember exactly and he hadn’t wanted to dwell on it at the time)

They could be behind him. Raza’s men. Please let him die before they take him back and inevitably kill him slowly and painfully.

The sun is so goddamn _hot._ Who the fuck gave it permission to, why is that even fucking necessary? Fucking hell. He’s in hell. Christ, maybe he’s dead and this is hell.

“Shut up, Tony.” Howard says absently. “Try and keep yourself together.”

“Easy for you to say.” He mumbles as his feet slip over sand.

“Why is it easy for me to say?” Howard says, and Tony feels him stop and put his hands on his hips.

“Jesus Christ.” Tony mutters. “Jesus Christ, of all the people to be with me now — ”

“You sound like your mother.”

Tony falls, rolling in the hot sand. He blinks hazily at the sun.

“Get up.” Howard says.

“Can’t.”

“ _Get up,_ boy.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Tony closes his eyes. _Get up,_ his mind screams, but it’s fading away, _get up!_

“You lazy sack of shit.” Howard says, and he feels so close, so _real._ “Get up now, Tony, or I swear to God — ”

He can’t die like this.

But what’s the point? Keep moving? Is he mad? Who will he find? He doesn’t know where he is, he’s been gone for two months, you’d have to be _insane_ to still be wasting money on recovery projects.

But he could get lucky. He could. He’s been getting lucky for the past three months, maybe —

_Getting lucky?_ He was kidnapped, Christ, has he lost his mind? What is lucky about this situation? He should just…

Stay here.

But then, he thinks of home.

He thinks of Rhodey, and how if he’s dead he can’t just lie down here. He thinks of the war machine. He thinks of Obie, how if he dies he’ll be left alone, and he thinks of —

He thinks of _Pepper._

He realises, oh God.

He realises he doesn’t want to disappoint her, most of all.

So: one knee wedged under his body, and then the other. Hands pressed into the sand. And push.

On his feet.

“Walk.” Howard says.

 

All the things Tony will do when he gets home.

Water. He’ll drink so much of it. He’ll never ever —

Oh God, _water._

His body doesn’t know what to think. The crystal of his cold pool over looking the ocean shatters and fragments as he falls screaming into it’s depths.

Drowning.

_Stop._ He needs to stop. Think clearly. It’s the dehydration that’s doing it.

It feels like something’s died in his mouth.

He stumbles on.

 

God, he hopes Rhodey’s alive. He really really hopes he’s alive. Tony doesn’t know what Rhodey thinks of him but he reckons there’s always been some kind of mutual respect there somewhere. He think’s it started in college because Rhodey, good ol’ Rhodey, he loves his weapons and that’s what Tony calls him that, why he calls him Rhodey, because those first few weeks they met he would barely leave Tony alone for asking what weapons he made and what it was like and how he felt about it and what his dad did. And Tony had figured it would be funny to call him Rhodey because that’s his name but it’s also like a Rhodey, a Stark roadie, so there was that. But Tony doesn’t know what exactly their relationship is, and if he’s honest he’s scared to call Rhodey his best friend because even if that’s how Tony feels he’s not sure if he feels the same way? It’s probably got something to do with his issues, he doesn’t know, he just wishes he

 

(A total absence of thought)

 

“Mom?”

Nothing actually comes out of his mouth. His throat is too dry.

There’s this shining light. This singing light, right in front of him.

He raises his arm, best he can.

Tries to touch it.

Just out of reach.

“Mom.” He croaks again, and stumbles forward. “Mom?”

A whisper.

Like a child, he stretches forward, and tries to catch pure light in his fingers.

(It’s the sun)

 

Was Tony ever in love? Did he really love Rumiko? Or was he in love with the idea of love? He just doesn’t know.

God, she had been so —

He wonders where she is now. He should stop being bitter. They were good friends, once, and Tony could use that now.

Tony remembers, vaguely, that _he_ once cheated on his girlfriend. A girlfriend that loved him, very, very much.

Where is Whitney now? Why hasn’t he seen her in so long?

Eugh. The damn sun is making him all sentimental.

 

If a human being walked past Tony right now, he would feel sick.

You wanna know why?

Because he is so damn _fucking_ hungry that he would eat them whole.

 

Raza is chasing him.

He tries to throw his feet forward, tries to run, but they won’t listen to him.

He tries to force his body faster. God, don’t let them take him. Please, please don’t let them take him.

Should he pray? Just in case? Tony likes to have all bases covered. If he dies now he would to have a place upstairs, if it really does exist.

 

His chest hurts real bad. He thinks his heart's on fire.

 

Tony can’t —

Just one foot in front of the other. Babies do it all the time.

It’s been dark. It was dark, and Tony had shivered, but he hadn’t stopped.

He hasn’t got long left, now.

Nearly there.

He would have loved to have gone home. He would have loved to have seen Pepper.

Maybe he just doesn’t deserve it.

Yinsen died. He definitely deserved life.

So maybe it’s fair Tony has to go.

_Don’t waste it,_ he hears _don’t waste your life._

“I’m sorry.” He croaks, and he’s not sure what for. Everything.

He’s so thirsty.

Oh God, this is it, now. He can feel his feet slipping. 

He’s going to fall and when he does he won’t be able to get back up.

His body left to rot in the desert sand and then —

Death is inevitable. It’s just sleep. It won’t matter when he’s gone.

One step. Next step.

He can’t see anything on the horizon. He can keep walking as long as he can, but there’s nothing to see.

That’s it.

This is it.

Time to stop.

He’s sorry.

No more —

The vibration from above shakes him to his core and he jars, blinking sand from his eyes, invigorated.

Oh God, oh my —

Hallucination or, imagination or, this can’t be, it’s too —

“Wait!” He screams “HEY!” 

What if it doesn’t see him? Come on, Tony, come on, just that little bit…

He runs, or tries to, and then, oh God, he wants to sob with relief, oh God it’s landing and it’s seen him and he’s going to _live,_ he is going to _live._

He lets himself fall, then, but it’s okay. He’s on his knees, breathing in sand and sweat, and he sees the hazy figures running towards him.

After all of it, he is going to _live._

_Thank you,_ he says, he’s not sure who to, Yinsen, maybe, God, what does it matter.

“How was the funvee?” Rhodey says, and he’s joking, that’s a joke and Rhodey is alive —

Tony has a second chance. 

He is going to _live._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news? Idk, basically I'm gonna start uploading short chapters. And by short, I do mean short, like, a paragraph. But that way I'll still be able to update regularly. I'm gonna cover IM2 in that format and then get working on longer stuff. Anyway, hope you enjoy! If, that is, copious pain is your thing.


	46. Chapter 46

Tony wakes up, some few weeks later, after the hospital and the pain and the press conference, to the sound of Jarvis’ tone in his ear.

“The time is 11:20 am, Sir. The weather in Malibu is fine with temperatures reaching heights of 84 degrees with scattered cloud. The — ”

Slowly, Tony rolls over. He feels soft sheets against his chest. He feels thick down pressed on his back.

Clean, white, blue. 

He’s home.

(There’s a flash, or a tear, or something, something in front of his eyes and he sees it all, the screaming, the hospital bed, Rhodey holding him down and some other blurry things, cold water and someone’s pale shaking hand spooning something thick and watery into his mouth)

“S’ late.” Tony mumbles, too tired to really articulate.

“I took the liberty of bypassing your usual wake up protocols, Sir.”

“Thank you, Jarvis.”

“Sir, if you would allow me to make a recommendation.”

“Go ahead.”

“Sleep. Eight hours is not near enough restorative.”

It sounds like a good plan.

 

When Tony wakes up again, it’s dark out.

“Jarvis,” he whispers, and he doesn’t know why “you up?”

“Always, Sir.”

“Time?”

“22:46, Sir.”

Tony sighs. He should get up.

But there’s so much that needs his attention.

He just wants to lie here, wrapped in soft sheets and the sound of the surf.

So he does.

A few hours trickle by.

“Sir.” Jarvis says in a low voice. “If you are able, I have ordered your regular. It is waiting on the table in the kitchen.”

Door to door service. Pizza. He didn’t get that in Afghanistan.

Tony’s appetite has shrunk. He’s been living off beans and rice for the past three months. God, he’s gonna need to put on weight after this. Get back into routine.

There’s so much that needs to be done and he just —

Doesn’t want to do it.

“Okay,” he says, forcing himself up. “Okay.”

 

He needs to change the reactor, for what will hopefully be the third and final time.

When he replaces the magnet this time, he has numbing agents. It’s disturbing, sliding the hold of the metal from his chest, and replacing it with a safer, protected case, but he’s seen worse now.

Does he still count as a civilian? He doesn’t feel like one.

They had operated again, after Rhodey found him. He had woken up in a white hospital room in a military base, doped to the gills, shaking, and there had been bandages crossed round his chest, he couldn’t see the light, and it cut too close to home so —

It’s fucked up, though. When he eases the metal lose he can look directly into his — oh God, is that his heart, now is not the time to panic, don’t think about it, just —

With shaking hands he lowers the new casing into his chest. A slight, delicate twist, and the metal on the sides unlatch, attaching to the prongs Yinsen placed on his rib cage.

He can’t breath. Not because he’s panicking, but because he’s realising now the full extent of having metal shoved in his chest.

He can’t — he can’t put the reactor in properly without switching this wire around but it’s — _ah —_ it’s twitching against the metal, shocking him as he flinches. He could, he just needs to gently lift it free —

No, that’s not going to work at all. Tony is small, but he’s always had long, thick fingers. Great for piano, great for work, great for… other things, not so great for this stuff.

He clears his throat.

“Jarvis,” he says “patch me through to Pepper.”

 

And so it begins. Tony Stark’s Five Step Plan to Wooing Pepper Potts and Giving His Life Meaning.

Step one: Get her to tolerate him.

Tony has been in love before. He loved Ru. He won’t pretend he didn’t.

And he doesn’t say that lightly. He doesn’t throw the word ‘love’ around lightly. Tony likes to keep the list short, preferably to one hand, a person for each finger.

So what does he feel for Pepper, exactly?

(He’s known her so long)

Something safe. Something warm.

Trust, he realises later.

He trusts her.

And Tony does not trust easily.

It’s a shame Pepper does not reciprocate.

 

In that week after he gets back from —

The first week after he returns, Tony tries to sort his life out.

Which is easier said than done because, you know, it is only a week and Tony has thirty eight years of baggage.

The press don’t know what to make of him at the moment. Tony thinks, and Pepper agrees, that they’re waiting until a respectable amount of time passes to completely slate him. This means Tony has a brief window in which to work his magic. It just wouldn’t do if it turned out Tony was completely out of his mind. That might make the press look like the bad guys.

So.

Shutting down weapons manufacturing isn’t easy. It was, effective immediately, but there are things to think about. It went on hold as soon as Tony gave the order, true, but there are people to think about. R & D, pay checks, patents, the _government._ Tony’s company is his only in name.

Obadiah keeps asking to see him. Tony wants to, he wants to talk to him, but he can’t risk it, he can’t trust letting Obie win him back with wise words and goddamned common sense. It won’t do. Tony can’t let it happen.

Would he be so easily swayed?

He has other plans.

Redemption. Is that what he’s after? Tony doesn’t think so. There’s nothing he can do to _redeem_ himself. He’s not trying to.

(He so is, but he can’t admit it)

But helping the people who he had put down? The people whose lives he had taken a sledgehammer to and smashed into the earth?

He could do that.

No one else will.

 

He doesn’t sleep well.

He never has, really. Always been light.

This time round, there aren’t _nightmares,_ per say, although there is the usual recurring dream of the man at his window.

Now, when he wakes he feels like he’s on the edge of something. Like someone is tugging him away. 

He can’t remember his dreams.

 

There is one thing, though.

Tony is not scared of water. He’s not. Absolutely not. 

He showers as usual. Nothing changes.

Except that he’s on edge.

He feels like he’s waiting for something. He feels like someone is going to come round the corner and hold him down, push his head into the spray until he chokes.

Which is completely unreasonable. This level of anxiety is not acceptable.

It’s just standing under water. It doesn’t freak him out, he doesn’t melt down. He’s just wary. Constantly waiting. Showers have to be quick, just in case. He can’t drag them out or someone might come.

They won’t, obviously, but try telling his hind brain that.

So he’s in the water, and he’s showering, obviously, and he has Jarvis disabled because the last time he alerted him he freaked out and his healing shoulder against the wall.

Which is why when he hears the voice, he jars.

When he jars, he jerks.

And when he jerks, he falls.

And that’s bad enough. But then he feels the hand on his shoulder.

“P-p-please,” he begs, hands pushing against his attacker, back slick with suds “d-don’t h-hurt m-m-me!”

Tony had been in the shower. He knows this, intellectually.

Later, when he has had plenty of panic attacks, when he spends nights sleepless, when the diagnosis ‘PTSD’ is old and nothing new, he won’t remember this. This is nothing.

But right now, this is everything. What Tony is seeing, in his mind, what his eyes are processing, are jagged stone walls. When he presses against the tiles, he feels rock at his back. When he shakes his hands, they shimmer, and wave, and behind them is dark browns and yellows and sand, and he is back in the cave.

He knows he’s back. He knows it.

And the man pressing him down, there’s a man pressing him down, and he’s going to push his head into the water and Tony does not want —

“Please,” he says again, dropping to his knees, scrabbling at the floor “what do you — please, please — ”

It’s just so scary.

He doesn’t want to be brave.

He curls himself over, knees digging into his chest, the _thing_ in his chest burning through his ribs, shattering him, tearing him open, and the water runs down his face, steam rising, but he doesn’t know that, Tony doesn’t see that, all he sees is the blur of water in front of his face and the dark of the bottom of the barrel.

Hands on his shoulders. Hands on his shoulders, and they’re going to drag him back up, and he knows better than to swing, he just wishes it would _stop,_ he just wishes they would stop it, oh God, he’ll do it, he’ll do anything they want —

It’s a breath of fresh air, or a breath of cold, cave oxygen, it doesn’t matter, point being the water is gone but it’s cold, the air cold on his skin and he’s shaking, the man is dragging him back and there’s stone grating against his knees —

Or it’s carpet, the carpet is burning his legs —

He can’t open his eyes, because if he opens his eyes then he could be back, and he knows his mind would fracture because maybe it was all a dream, a fantastical dream and he never left that cave at all.

Maybe he’s still there. Sick. Delirious. Maybe this is all a delusion.

“Please,” he says, and is he, oh _God,_ ugh, he’s crying, and he’s bent over himself on the carpet, arms shielding his head “please, please, please.”

“Tony.” Says the voice, deep, low, and distinctively male.

Tony sucks in a sharp breath, because it could all be fake, this could all be a crazed illusion, and he can’t open his eyes only to find —

A hand on his back. “Let me get you some clothes.”

Clothes? Clothes. If this were a hallucination, he wouldn’t be worried about clothes. He just wouldn’t.

So this must be real.

But there’s always a chance that —

There’s a towel, dumped onto his back. He feels the air shift as Obie comes to crouch next to him, slumped, back against the bed.

“Tony?” He says again, one leg bent and arm slung over it, head tilted enquiringly “you back with me boy?”

Tony sniffs and draws the towel around his body. “Never left.” He says, feeling breathless.

Obie nods. “Sure.” He says, and it’s encouraging.

There’s a thick ring on Obie’s finger that Tony’s never noticed before. Gaudy. Not nice at all.

“You gonna…” Obie looks at him, waves a hand.

“Oh,” Tony says “yeah.”

He can’t look him in the eye and he doesn’t know how to say that his legs won’t hold him up.

Obie’s eyes narrow, slightly. Not in a cruel way, but in curiosity.

Maybe pity, too.

“Do you need help?”

Tony swallows.

“What did the bastards do to you?”

“Nothing.”

“Tony.” Obie says, in that low warning voice.

“Nothing,” Tony says again, and he doesn’t want to cry “it’s nothing.”

Obie looks away, sucking on his teeth. This is ridiculous. He’s jumpy, okay? He’s allowed to be jumpy.

But he’s _fine._

“Tones,” Obie says finally “Tony, if there’s, if you’re having trouble adjusting — ”

“I’m not.” Tony snaps. “I’m fucking fine.”

“Don’t get hissy with me, Tony, I’m worried about you.”

He’s tired. Tony is really tired. The adrenalin rush has faded into an ache and he can’t leave the floor. “I know.” He says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Obie sighs again. “Okay. Okay, fine. Look, you’re gonna take a holiday, right? A bit of R&R. Why don’t you go abroad? What about the house in Thailand? You’ve never visited.”

Tony can’t believe Obie even remembers that. Tony has pretty much forgotten he bought it.

It’s so tempting.

“No.” He says “I can’t. I can’t just, drop that bombshell and then leave it, I have, it’s a job, and I’ve got to do it, so — ”

“You’re not well.”

“I’m fine."

“Tony, don’t tell me that. Don’t lie to my face.”

“I’m not lying.” Tony says, exhausted “I am fine. I’m not — this isn’t a problem, usually. You scared me.”

“Getting jumpy and... incoherence are different things, Tony.”

“Obie!”

He holds up his hands. “Okay,” he says “okay, I get it. You’re ‘fine’. But remember last time? When you said you were fine? What happened then?”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m looking out for you, Tony.”

“I know.” He murmurs.

Obie looks at him again. Stares at him, for a long time. He should feel self-conscious, maybe, because all he’s wearing is a towel. But still. It’s Obie.

“Here’s what I think,” he says finally “I think what you need it a break, okay?”

“I’m on a break.” Tony says, and he feels distant, like the ground is moving beneath him, and for a moment he thinks he can feel the turn of the earth.

“A proper break — here,” Obie throws him some clothes “a proper break. Somewhere nice. Hot. Or cold, if uh,” he scratches his beard uncomfortably “if that’s maybe better, for you.”

Tony appreciates that Obie has thought of that. That the heat might be jarring for him. Nerve-wracking, even. But it’s not. And he doesn’t need a holiday.

“I don’t,” Tony stumbles to his feet, tightening the towel around his waist “I don’t need a holiday.”

“ _Tony.”_ Obie says, and for a moment his voice is harsh, cold. “Tony,” he says again, and he softens. “Listen, maybe you’re not… I don’t think you’re seeing what we’re seeing.”

Tony runs cold, a little, and he sits on the bed, draws his underwear up over the towel. “What’s that.” He asks, back to Obie, facing the bathroom.

A sigh. Tony can almost see the way that Obie will be scratching his beard.

“Tony,” he says in a low voice “m’boy. What you did — that stunt you pulled, with the, uh, the weapons. And now this. And you’ve lost weight. There’s a hole in your chest. Tony, it’s gonna be hard for you to adjust, and I’m not asking you to get better overnight. But as your — ” friend? No. Something else. “As someone you _trust,_ I am going to tell you to get some help.”

Tony wants to feel angry but he just feels kinda tired, like he’s being slowly dragged to sleep. Whatever. He doesn’t need help, actually, but if Obie wants to get on him then that’s fine. He’ll stop when he realises Tony’s okay.

“… the house in Thailand.” Obie says again “It’s all stocked, there are people cleaning it out regularly. C’mon, Tony. Take a break. When you get back everything will be waiting for you. I promised a vacation, right? When was the last time you took a vacation?”

Tony slumps on his bed, not bothering to put on clothes. He just climbs right under the sheets, still wet. His head hurts.

“‘Kay, Obie.”

“You’ll go?”

“No,” Tony yawns “I’m going to sleep.”

“Tony!”

“Obie,” Tony says softly, closing his eyes. “Leave me alone.”

It sounds petulant and whiny and stupid and for a moment Tony is twenty-one and living in Obie’s back room trying to break the catch on the window and sulking when he was caught. And he’s suddenly back in the facility where the only person who ever visited was Obie and his parents never bothered because why would anyone want to visit their stupid fucked up failure of a son, and he had been so alone, and no one had helped him, and then Obie —

He had paid for his treatment, no questions asked. And he had bought him new things, new clothes. He’d paid the dentist to fix where one of his teeth had been knocked out and the cosmetic surgeon to get rid of his tattoo. And he had brought him things to keep him occupied when he sat in that fucking room and his hands shook and all he really wanted was a drink or some coke but hey a rubixs cube works too.

Obie was good to him.

“Okay.” The other man says. “Okay, fine, I’m going. But you need to take a break, Tony, hmm? Lay low. Get back to me on the whole vacation thing, right? Okay? Are you listening?”

“Mmm.”

“Okay. Fine. I’m switching out the light.”

There’s something wrong. Tony can feel it.

Something about Obie. Something that feels… off.

 

The Iron Man, as it will later be called, takes some work.

More than some.

Back then, in the facility, Tony’s mind had started to waste away. Nothing to keep him occupied. He’d passed stagnation and was into decline.

Now though, he has this.

(Change. He’s going to change the world.)

It’s the hope that keeps him going. It’s the feel of metal under his palms and the scratches on his fingers that make him work. Because this is his. This whole thing is his.

He can change everything. _Redemption._ Isn’t that what this is all about? A chance to redeem himself? A chance that, when he comes knocking on the pearly gates, God doesn’t take one look at him and kick him off the side of a cloud?

However.

Tony is a busy man.

It’s impossible to keep on top of SI, to work round the company and the weapons and revolutionising the future when he’s also double timing as pilot for an enhanced piece of weaponry. Quite frankly, he doesn’t have the experience. Or the expertise. He can build, sure, but there are things that only a pilot can know. Tony can fly, he has a licence, and he is competent. Which is better than nothing, but not the same.

Where, oh where, will he find someone with years of piloting experience and a knack for being an honest, stand-up guy?

Hmm.

 

Rhodey had given Tony space after he got back, something for which he is infinitely grateful. Mainly because he was in the hospital in Germany when they found him, he was on the jet that they lifted him to safety with, he was on the plane when Tony stepped back on to the hot concrete of a California airbase.

He saw Tony puking and retching and on those brief occasions where he would forget where he was an call out into the dark of the hospital with it’s beeps and red lights. And he would wait patiently while he had to explain to Tony all over again, weak from dehydration and starvation and exhaustion and concussion, that he was safe and he would be home soon enough.

Tony loathes to ask anything of him, because of this, and because he just doesn’t like imposing full stop. Asking your friend — possibly your best friend, if such a thing is possible — to risk his neck to save the world for you is a tall order.

But Rhodey is a good guy. He would want the chance to do something more, right?

In private conversations between the two of them, Rhodey has admitted dissatisfaction. Tony remembers that he had once wanted to be married by twenty-eight. It hadn’t worked out. If you asked Tony, it’s probably because Rhodey is _too_ nice. Too kind. He is, quite honestly, too good. For anyone. Or maybe that’s bias speaking.

Or maybe he just hasn’t found the right girl yet. Someone who is willing to put up with the long hours and the deployment and the risk. Someone who is good, too, but hard enough to put up with the shit that goes with being married to an air force man.

Tony can empathise, maybe.

Except, when Tony asks, Rhodey doesn’t seem very keen.

Has he been talking to Obie? They’re parroting all the same lines. _What you need is time to get your mind right._ He’s not — why do people think he’s crazy? Tony can see objectively why people might think it’s strange, cutting all ties like he did, but don’t they see _why?_

Maybe they do see why. Maybe they think he lost his head in Afghanistan. Tony has seen a few popular theories, one being that he was brainwashed by terrorists who have sent him home to destroy the US from the inside. It’s bullshit, obviously, and anybody can tell, but it would explain why he’s been getting snide looks from people instead of the usual pity for the poor PTSD’d civilian.

Tony also knew, along with Rhodey being a great guy, that he was pretty keen on military. Not in the way Tony had been, for the money and the ease, but because he genuinely believes that he’s doing right by the world. Which isn’t wrong. Rhodes is like any soldier.

(He told Tony about his own nightmares, once. Back then, Tony had been the one to tell him, as gently as he was capable of, to get some help. Oh, how the tables have turned)

It’s not that —

Yeah. You know, obviously, it hurts. To be, kinda. Yeah.

It’s not that, he just.

He trusts Rhodey, maybe, so he thought.

But he’s right because Tony should get his head straight. He should figure out what he’s actually trying to do. Uh.

Maybe he is sick. God, maybe he — can an insane man tell if he’s crazy? Because building a suit of _metal armour,_ that is —

God, that’s insane.

If Tony was an average soldier, or a journalist, or whatever, a civilian who was kidnapped by insurgents and tortur — and held prisoner, who, when he came home, holed up in his garage and made a suit of armour out of scraps, desperate to protect himself from —

God, he’d probably be sectioned.

Tony figures then, with increasing urgency, that there is no way Obie can know about this. It’s not just that it’s highly weaponizable and SI has a sudden berth of weapons. 

If anyone finds out about this he can kiss goodbye to SI and hello to the psych ward at UCLA.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #goodguyobie so anyway i'm going on a mini-hiatus and i'm sorry for screwing you guys around with the update timings it's just i'm at school and i'm always writing this but i'm also writing a little something on the side which is basically just TONY ANGST and some PAIN and CAPTIVITY and all of those lovely things and i should be uploading that pretty soon. So about a week, maybe a week and a half until the next chapter, and in the meantime enjoy some psychological torture and angst.


	47. Chapter 47

Tony nearly breaks his neck testing the flight repulsers. Whoops.

He has no intention of ever being the man to pilot the armour. Ever. He has, he is busy. As much as he needs it, as much as the world needs it, Tony cannot be that man.

It feels wrong. Like tainting a white sheet with dirt. The armour is all sleek lines of curved metal and it’s so beautiful, it’s such a beautiful work of art, and is that narcissistic? Probably, but what does it matter. For him to climb inside with all his twisted synapses and broken ends would be like marring a Picasso, taking ink to a Monet.

The armour needs someone strong. Someone who doesn’t drink, someone who doesn’t flinch, someone who isn’t as weak as him. Rhodey will come round. He has to come round. He’ll see, eventually, everyone will, Tony swears it.

Everyone will see eventually that he was right. Isn’t that always the way? Tony remembers when he was kid. He remembers trying to get people to listen, and how no one ever did. It’s the same now, maybe. It’s strange, because he’s old. Not, you know, old old, but in his prime. By now —

What was his father doing at this age? His mother? It’s strange to think of. Tony realises he doesn’t know when they met, or how.

In the jumbled way that his thoughts seem to run nowadays, they jump to his mother. Jarvis had told him a story once, about his birth. He had said that his mom and dad had both been there, and his mom had held him as soon as he was born, and that his father held a party. He said that his mother didn’t put him down at all for months and months because that’s how much she loved him.

Tony’s old enough to know that he was lying. But he appreciates the gesture.

 

Tony misses the board of directors meeting.

He’s lying low. Obie wants him to lie low? Fine. Watch him. He’ll lie lower than anyone has ever laid before.

Looking back: monumentally stupid idea, although clever ones have never been his strong point.

“The board’s filing an injunction, they’re claiming PTSD — ”

Tony ignores Pepper’s wince and leaves.

She joins him, later. In his workshop. Because he won’t let Obie in not since he’s been acting strange, but Pepper is…

Different.

“People are worried.”

“About the company.”

“About you, too.” She says softly.

Pepper is not a soft person.

Tony snorts. “Sure, Pep.” He spins in his chair and wipes his hands on his jeans.

“You don’t leave your workshop.”

“Because I’m working.”

“On what?”

He spins back. “What’s it to you?”

“You said you weren’t making weapons anymore, Tony.”

“I’m not.”

“Then what are you working on?”

“That’s,” he exhales, swallows. “Nothing. Sometimes, I like to do things privately. Private project. For my eyes only.”

Pepper just looks at him. “Is it about what happened?”

Tony blinks. “With Obie?”

“With Afghanistan.”

Tony’s eyes widen. “Why would you — who, have you been spying on me? What, is it Jarvis? Did Jarvis — ”

“I have basic common sense, Tony.”

“What does that mean?”

Pepper looks around, to her left and to her right, almost as if checking for intruders. Then she sits delicately on the chair next to Tony, rests her hands on her skirt.

She clears her throat.

“Obie and I were wondering — ”

“Stop.”

“Tony.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Tony keeps his voice forcefully bright. “You all want there to be a problem. You all want there to be an explanation, don’t you?”

“I don’t understand.”

“You want something to be wrong with me because it just makes it so much easier to explain. I’ve gone insane, and I want to stop weapons manufacturing because, because they hurt me, or whatever, but — ”

“Did they hurt you?”

“ — I think it’s because you just don’t want to admit that I’ve realised what I’ve done is,” he swallows, hard “wrong. That what you’ve been helping me do is wrong, and it’s just easier to say I’m crazy, or sick, or whatever it is you want to say, and you’re not listening to me, are you?”

Pepper smooths her hands along her brown skirt. “I’m listening.” She says. “But you have to realise it’s not helping with what I’m seeing.”

Tony sits back. “Okay, Potts. What are you seeing?”

“Did you know my father killed himself?”

Tony blinks. “What.”

“Mmm hmm. When I was quite young. Five or six. So I can’t say that I’m, you know, an expert, but I remember bits.”

Tony is aware that he’s backed into a corner. It would be incredibly, immensely inconsiderate to say something now. Even he knows that.

She sighs. “It’s made me paranoid, maybe, to what being a solider can do to men. I don’t remember a lot, but I remember enough.”

“He was a soldier?”

“No. He was paralysed in a car crash. He was stuck there for a while, there was some… trauma. Or so I’m told.”

“I’m sorry.”

Pepper sighs again, a small furrow forming between her perfectly sculpted brows. “God, don’t be. He was a monster towards the end, I think. You would have to ask my sisters. But that’s not the point. The point is that men like him, and I think, men like you, don’t necessarily realise when there’s… I don’t think my father wanted to turn into the man he did. I don’t think he realises how he was acting at all, really.”

Tony stays quiet. “You think I’m turning into a monster, Pepper?”

“No. I think you don’t realise what’s wrong.”

“I know what’s wrong. And I know how to fix it.”

A hand on his knee. “That’s not how it works, Tony.” She says softly. “And there are people who can help.”

“Rhodey said no.” Tony says, without thinking, because Pepper just, she has this way of getting under his skin, and the way she’s talking, for a moment Tony forgot his hasn’t told her about the armour, and why would he not have, because she wants to help and he trusts her and —

“He what?” She said sharply. “What did you ask Rhodey? What did he say to you?”

“God, no.” Tony says quickly, backing up his chair and rolling round to his screen. “Christ, I just, I got confused. That was, fuck wow, that sounds bad. No, Rhodey didn’t say anything like that to me.”

“Did you ask him for help?”

“No, because I don’t need it.”

“Tony — ”

“Pepper!”

She sets her jaw, takes her hand from his knee. “You make it very difficult to be considerate.”

“Then don’t be.”

She nods, exhales sharply. “Fine. Fine, okay. Tony, me, Obie, Rhodey, the doctor we’ve consulted, we think you need a break.”

“I’m on a break.”

“A proper break. Somewhere… professional.”

Tony laughs. “Oh my God, are you serious?”

“Why aren’t you taking me seriously?”

“Because there is nothing wrong with me.”

“You don’t come out of your workshop, you talk to your machines more than you talk to me. Rhodey says you were planning something big but I’ve heard nothing of it and we’re not sure if it’s some figment of your imagination. The doctor thinks it’s a coping mechanism. Obie told me about the shower, Tony, he told me, I know what happened and you’ve never been scared of water before, they obviously, they must have hurt you while you were there, do you know what it’s like knowing that? That you were, in pain, or that, God, the least you could do — ”

“Pepper.”

“Don’t ‘Pepper’ me, Tony Stark! Don’t do it!”

Tony smiles. “Pep.”

She exhales shakily, rubs a hand over her forehead. “God, I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“I wish I did.”

Tony considers. “I imagine it would make life easier.”

Pepper huffs, and then finally smiles.

“See? There it is. Pepper, please. I’m fine. I know I’m fine. Yes, I was… I’m shaky. But I’m getting better. I thank whoever everyday that I’ve… that I’ve gotten off so light. That I’m not a mess.”

She sniffs slightly, and turns her head to look away. “You were always a mess, Tony.”

“True.” He concedes, and then pauses. “Pepper,” he says urgently, in a low voice “Pepper, I know that — look, whatever Obie is saying, whatever Rhodey thinks, I need to know that you’re on my side for this.”

Her brow furrows and she turns to face him. “Your side?” She says, confused. “Why would I — Tony, this isn’t a war.”

Tony blinks. “No,” he says leaning back “I know that.”

“Right.”

“What I meant was…”

Silence.

“I think I know what you mean, Tony.”

He looks up sharply. “You do?”

She looks sad. She places her hand back on his knee. “Yes,” she says “and the doctor said that paranoia — ”

Tony stands abruptly. “Oh for God’s sake.” He says, half exasperated half insulted and more than a little scared. “Please, Pepper, stop. It’s — this is insanity inducing, do you know that?”

“I’m worried about you.”

“Great.” Tony snaps, anger finally getting the better of him. “Good for you. Unless you have anything valid to say, get out.”

“You ass.” Pepper says, standing, affable manner and concern gone. “I’m trying to help you, Tony. Who else is trying to do that, don’t be a — ” she waves her hands in frustration “don’t be a dick!”

Tony stands back, crosses his arms. “I don’t need help, Potts.”

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, Tony, sure. Next time you fall in the shower don’t bother calling me to drag you out.”

If Pepper had stayed a little longer, she might have seen the very visceral look of panic cross Tony’s face, because what if he falls and the water keeps falling and Raza’s men sound in his ears. What will he do then?

Who else does he have?

“Wait.” He says, clearing his throat. “Wait.”

Pepper turns, slowly, arms crossed. Tony scratches the back of his head.

“I’m not,” he swallows “I’m not saying that there’s a problem.” 

Pepper arches one perfect eyebrow.

“But if there was, I would… there are certain things I would get help with.”

“Really.”

Tony swallows again. “Don’t make this harder then it has to be.”

“That’s rich, coming from — ” she must see Tony’s face, because her own softens. Her forehead creases with concern. “Sorry.” She murmurs “I’m listening.”

“I’m fine,” Tony says “I am, I’m absolutely fine, okay? There are things, maybe. Small things that never used to scare me that do now. But it’s, it’s okay. That’s normal.”

“Healthy, even.” Pepper adds.

“Right.” Tony says, encouraged. “If…” he closes his eyes briefly, prepares himself “if you really think, if you honestly, if it would really give you peace of mind for me to meet with someone, well, then okay.”

Pepper takes a step forward.

“But it has to be someone I’ve chosen, okay?”

She steps back. “…Okay.”

Tony’s shoulders sag slightly. “No one the board’s picked. No one Obie — just, let me choose. Or you can choose, even. I trust you. Just don’t let Obie know who. Tell him I’m seeing someone respected. Nothing else.”

“Tony — ”

“Pepper, please. I’m already doing this for you, don’t make me add something else.”

She looks at him for a while. “You should be doing this for you.”

“Well I’m not, because quite frankly it’s unnecessary. But for whatever reason — ”

“That I may actually care about you.”

“Right. And I vaguely remember that sometimes it’s the done thing to give into pressure for the sake of people you care about, so.”

Pepper looks at him. “I will… I will check some out, and get back to you.”

“Okay. Is that all, Ms Potts?”

“Fuck off, Mr Stark.”

 

Later that night, Tony can’t sleep.

He tosses and turns to the point of irritation. He’s never been a deep sleeper but he’s always managed at least five hours.

He knows why, though.

Two things, really. One, he might be in love with Pepper Potts.

Two, he really, really wants a drink.

The latter is easily solved with a dip into the cabinet he keeps by his bed for emergencies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmm did i say this was on hiatus?? hmm i lied


	48. Chapter 48

Tony was never going to pilot the armour. 

He’s not a pilot. He’s a, an engineer. Rhodey, Rhodey was going to do it, a military man, better than him, he would bring him round eventually.

But then Obie is slinging his arm round his shoulder. Who do you think filed the injunction, Tony?

And then.

What is he now.

Who is Tony Stark?

A mass murderer. A — a man, desperate for some kind of redemption.

He’ll go mad, without it. He’ll go mad. He can’t live, he will not live, knowing that the weapons he made with his own hands are killing. That he is a killer, and he can’t control it.

Oh, God. For the first time he truly, truly, understands what it was like to be his father. The drink, and the pain, and bitterness. How is Tony any different?

Tony is worse. His father had a family. He had loved, once. What does Tony have? What does he have of worth?

He could have this. He must have this. Redemption. The chance to help. To save.

(Does it make him selfish? That’s the real question. Is it selfish to pursue heroism if your only reasoning is a way to keep the demon off of your shoulder? The black dog at bay?)

His reflection. It shatters under the force of his repulser.

And then, Gulmira.

If he can do one thing.

One thing only.

He will not let Yinsen die again.

 

Killing isn’t hard, now.

He doesn’t have to think twice.

Bullets straight to the heads of the men holding a woman and her children hostage.

And that’s that.

 

He sees Abu, the slimy little bastard.

He could hold his head under some water. See how he liked it. He could take him away and hold him in a cave and not let him see the sun for days and starve him. He could leave him crawling on the floor, blood a smear on the dirt from a hole in his chest, and have him prostrate himself from release from the pain.

These are all things Tony considers. At the end, Tony will never actually get closure from what they did to him in Afghanistan. Mob justice, however, is just as effective, if infinitely less satisfying.

 

“Are those bullet holes?”

For the record, Tony is coming down from a crazy high. The most drastic adrenalin rush of his life. When he was younger, he had the coke, the crack, whatever it was in all it’s different forms. Now, he thinks he might have found something else.

And it actually wasn’t the worst thing Pepper had ever caught him doing.

 

Later, he’s in his bed. He’s actually lying, in his bed, bandaged as best as possible and still shaking uncontrollably.

He can’t stop grinning so he turns his head into the pillow to try and smother it. God, that was, that was crazy. He’s so crazy! And the way they had all dropped like flies, and Tony was in control, perfect, everything in order as it should be.

He’s gonna owe Rhodey a jet, but worse things have happened.

And then he’s crying.

He can’t stop. It’s probably the come-down.

Still. He hasn’t cried like this since —

He didn’t cry in Afghanistan. There have been tears, after, but nothing… explainable. Just a natural, biological reaction to fear.

This is something else. Something deep, something undefinable, and Tony feels really really scared.

He needs to stop. He presses his hands into his mouth, curls closer as if to stifle the sound. God, oh God he hasn’t cried like this since he was at Harwell and none of the other kids would talk to him. He was homesick. He’d wanted Jarvis. He wishes, suddenly, with visceral clarity and a surge of horrific longing, for Jarvis, someone to love him like that again, someone who understood or would help or —

Unconditional love. That’s all he wants. Someone to just love him. Is it so fucking hard?

It doesn’t help. He keeps crying, and he won’t stop. He killed men today. He killed them. Who knows where those men came from? You hear all these stories about boys kidnapped from villages and brainwashed into becoming insurgents. Is that who he killed today? Some innocent boys? He wishes he could take it back. He wants a re-do. Not fair. Not fair, he wants to do it again.

He should have killed Abu himself. God, he should have made him feel pain. Made him feel the pain he made Tony felt, the sadist, that strange sadist, who made him suffer so much but after was so bizarrely jovial.

And then Tony has the sudden, completely ridiculous urge to pray. He hasn’t prayed since he was a boy, and even now he knows that nothing can be done about talking to a God that doesn’t listen, or doesn’t exist, whatever, but he feels so achingly desperate that he just wants to scream somehow and failing that whisper pleas into his pillow and hope someone up there is listening.

He bites it down, even though the prayers he was taught come unbidden to his mind. He refuses, though. It feels like giving in.

Instead, he sobs silently, trying desperately not to make a sound, trying to just keep calm and keep it in and fall asleep so he won’t have to —

“Tony?” Someone whispers.

Tony freezes. His eyes flick open and he tries to smooth his breathing, deep and regular, tries to stop the shakes and the sniffs.

“Tony?” Pepper says again “Tony, are you alright? I thought I heard… noise.”

Tony focuses on breathing in and out, rolled on his side, facing the window. Pepper whispers.

“Are you asleep?”

The moon is dancing over the ocean outside his window.

He should say something. 

But he doesn’t trust his voice not to break.

“Tony? Are you asleep?” Pepper whispers into the dark.

Tony snorts, slightly, as if in deep slumber. He hears Pepper shift by the door.

Hears her footsteps.

He closes his eyes quickly.

“Tony,” she murmurs, and he can feel her. She’s close.

(Later, they’ll share this bed)

The lights are off. But the moon would be enough to see the darkened material of his pillow. His swollen eyes.

Silence.

He feels Pepper watching him. He focuses on not moving his eyes under his lids.

Unconditional love.

Maybe one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo guys ur comments are literally the butter to my bread please never ever stop


	49. Chapter 49

“He did — Tony, are you sure?”

Tony balances the mobile on his shoulder, pressed to his ear, and spins the hologram in the air. “I wouldn’t make this up.”

“No, no I’m not — that’s not what I’m saying.”

“You think I’m crazy.” Tony points out.

“You built a suit and flew it over a no fly zone to blow up weapons, yes, Tony, I think you’re crazy. That being said, it’s not a new concept for you.” Rhodey says sharply.

Tony grins, slightly, although that’s been difficult recently. “That’s my boy.”

“Tony, I’m just…” Rhodey pauses over the line. “I don’t know what to think.”

“He filed an injunction against me.”

“Do you want me to be your friend, here? Or do you want me to be an objective point of view?”

Tony thinks. “Objective.”

“Okay. From an _objective,_ I do stress that, point of view, I would be thinking that Obadiah probably has your well-being at heart. That he can’t understand what’s wrong with you. That he thinks what he is doing it best thing for you and the company. Misjudged, yes, but well intentioned.”

“Okay.”

“But as your friend… I don’t know, Tony. I don’t know what to say to that. It’s not… does he usually pull stunts like that? He’s got your best interests at heart. He probably doesn’t know how you’re… coping. I don’t know, man. I don’t know what to say.”

“He once locked me in a room for two months.”

“Did it help?”

“I never took coke again.”

“Well, there we go. Tony, maybe it’s just one of those things. He cares about you, man. He wants what’s best, and he always has. Just — ”

“I know,” Tony says, thumbing his eyes “I know. Okay. Fine. Okay.”

“Tony?” Rhodey says.

“Yeah?”

“Are you alright, man?”

“Tired.”

“Then you should sleep.”

“Funny, I never thought of that.”

A pause. “Did Pepper — ”

“Get back to me? Yeah. She did. I’m gonna look through the list.”

“That’s good, man. That’s great. Take control, right?”

“Right.”

Let the record show that Tony never does see that psychiatrist.

 

He’s trying to sleep.

When did it get so difficult? 

It’s not the nightmares. The nightmares aren’t…

They’re not _scary._ He doesn’t wake up screaming, or displaced, or whatever. Sometimes he sweats too much. That’s all.

Strange dreams, though. Sometimes he’ll be playing backgammon with Yinsen except their board is resting on white hot metal. Or he’ll be walking round the caves, parts he only saw through the grain of a burlap sack, for hours on end. No one disturbs him. He’s not scared. He just walks, trying to find his way out.

And then.

Other things, too.

Now, he rolls onto his side, facing the wide ocean. It’s such a perfect view. He loves this view.

“Jarvis,” he mumbles “let the sound though.”

And there it is. The sound of the surf. Rushing in.

And washing out.

He inhales deeply, lets his mind wander. When on the edge of sleep, it goes to such strange places.

Tomorrow, he’ll —

Eh. He’ll do something.

He lets himself daydream, slightly. He imagines a body next to his. Firm. Man or woman? Does it matter? Any, either, both.

They runs fingers down his back, so tangible that Tony smiles into the pillow. He imagines perfect fingers kneading the notches of his spine, down his tailbone, lower.

He sighs, nuzzles closer, hugs the pillow tight. He needs to find someone.

Someone nice. Someone kind. Is it possible that someone will ever love him as much as he loves them? It must be. It will be. It’s not too late. It’s not.

The sound of the surf.

The sound of fingernails on glass.

Tony stiffens, eyes flying open, searching for the usual spot where —

Nothing. There’s nothing there. Tony is tired. He’s on the edge of sleep. He’s only just half-lucid.

It’s okay. The mind takes you to strange places on the edge of sleep.

Slowly, he dips back under.

And then he hears it.

A low ringing. Piercing, but not so much that threatens his calm.

It’s so —

Peaceful.

His eyes slide open. He’s in his room. It’s just his room. Nothing has changed.

The noise cuts out. Sharp, like static. It leaves a quiet in it’s place.

Too quiet. Slowly, Tony rolls onto his back.

Waits.

There is breathing. Someone else is in the room with him.

He’s caught somewhere on the edge of fear and tiredness. He knows that he is dreaming. If he lies here, he will fall asleep. The breathing will stop. Soon, light will filter through his windows. A new day.

But he is human. So he calls for Jarvis.

He can’t, though. In his ears he hears a rasp, and that’s his voice. He tries harder, tries screaming; nothing comes out but a low moan.

There is something in the room with him and he can’t scream. 

He blinks. Tries to talk again. His mouth makes useless noises.

So he lifts his head as best he can, and —

There’s a man, in the corner of his room.

It blinks at him. Tony thinks it blinks. It doesn’t have a face.

“Who are you.” He tries to say.

The figure says nothing.

“Please.” He rasps.

Tony doesn’t know how long he stays like that. Eyes open wide, neck straining to stay upright. He doesn’t know when he falls back to sleep, except that when he awakes there is soft light streaming across his bed and the man is gone.

It was a dream, but his neck aches.

The man at the window is getting closer.

 

Tony knows a few things.

One, SI is dealing under the table.

Two —

Two? It may be Obie.

Tony knows what greed does to a man. He can accept it. If he could just —

He’s wrong. He must be wrong. It’s the paranoia talking.

But it wouldn’t hurt to check. And a few years time, he and Obie will laugh about the time that Tony thought Obie was responsible for the death of thousands and the disintegration of everything Tony stands for.

 

When Obie rips the reactor from his chest, he smiles fondly. Tony recognises the smile, because it’s the same one he gave him when he puked on his lap after that first night in his house all those years ago. It’s the same smile he gave him when Rumiko left him. It’s the same smile he gave him when he crawled over his carpet, choking, and waving away ghosts.

Tony had always taken it for caring. Considerate. Kind.

Even more disturbing, Tony now realises it was _pride._

 

So, here’s the thing.

Right now, Tony is dangling some forty feet over a ready to blow arc reactor, and Pepper is screaming, and there’s a man in front of him who Tony does not recognise but he’s wearing a fucking massive suit and, for the sake of the story, let’s call him _Stane._

And Tony has, in that moment, has a few choices to make. Is this the way he wants to go out? No fucking way. He didn’t survive everything to go out in one big blast.

That being said, it’s not looking promising. If anything, his chances are decreasing rapidly. Pepper keeps shouting something, and Stane keeps shooting, and Tony is, well, he’s scared, but he’s also pretty irritated in only a way that he could ever be.

“You finally outdid yourself Tony,” Obadiah had said, marching closer “you made your father proud!”

What’s that supposed to mean?

That’s really fucking bitchy, Obie.

“ _Tony!”_ Pepper screams.

God, he’s heard that before. Where has he heard that before?

“Pepper!” He shouts, voice hoarse.

“Hold still you little prick.”

“ _JUST DO IT!”_ Tony screams and his voice breaks if only slightly.

Does he want die? Does he want to die?

“You told me not to!”

“Pepper!”

He might die. Quick, think. What does he want his last thought to be? Quickly, Tony, quickly, make it fucking count.

He eyes squeeze tight and he’s —

It’s like being sucked into a memory. A green field, and a lake. And his head is resting on Whitney’s lap. Ty’s elbow poking his ribs.

 

Later, he’s grateful that he didn’t have to hear Obie’s dying scream.

 

Now, though, he wakes slowly. Brow furrows.

“I’m alive.” He rasps.

Rhodey hums. “Yeah,” he huffs “you’re alive.”

“What — ”

“He’s dead.”

“Pepper?”

“Fine. Has a couple of scrapes, but what can you do. Running in heels in dangerous.”

Tony coughs. It’s dark out there, wherever he is.

“My,” his hands fly to the reactor “Rhodey where’s my, is it all — ”

A hand on his wrist gently forcing it down to the bed. “It’s all okay, it’s all working. You’re fine, and the reactor’s exactly where it’s supposed to be.”

Tony quivers there for a while, not breaking eye contact. Eventually, he blinks. Swallows.

“Obie — ”

“No,” Rhodey says “no. Not now. Tony, we have to make a statement, okay? It’s a mess. You need to clear it up, there’s some agent that wants to talk to you, and then you can go home, you can… mourn.”

“Why would I mourn him?”

“Because you’re a human being. Get some sleep. Pepper will wake you up when it’s time.”

“Time?”

“For the press conference.”

“There’s a press conference?”

Rhodey’s eyes narrow. “I think you’re concussed.”

Tony blinks. “No.”

Rhodey cups his chin, tilts it up slightly. Feels his forehead, examines his pupils. “You’re in shock.” He determines.

“Not in — ”

“It can wait.” Rhodey decides. “We’ll delay the conference. Get some sleep, here, wrap up warm.”

“I’m not in — ”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m cold.”

“Because you’re in shock.”

“I’m not — ”

Rhodey’s hand is squeezing his knee, and Tony doesn’t remember seeing him move. 

“Obadiah — ” he blurts.

“Is dead.” Rhodey finishes.

Tony doesn’t want him to be dead, but he’s too tired to think on it.

 

Some two days later, and Pepper scowls down at him, dabbing concealer over his scars.

Gentle. She’s very gentle.

But she’s not afraid to rip the tape from his face.

The agent blinks at them morosely, unmoved by their obviously incredibly loving show. He blinks, hands Pepper a card, and nods, before walking out the door. 

Probably one of the most uninspiring men he’s ever met.

 

Also, Tony would like to take this moment to confirm that yes, he is in fact Iron Man.

 

Tony, in such a sick, twisted way, the only way he is capable of, does not want him to be dead.

He wonders if he had caught him earlier if it could have been avoided. If he had taken his head out his ass for a second maybe he could’ve —

No. No, Obie — Stane was a sick man. Nothing Tony can do to help.

It makes him squeamish, though.

More than squeamish.

Violated.

And then, as the shock sinks away, he realises —

Obie knew.

He knew, that they had tortured Tony.

_He had probably authorised it._

Tony throws up in the toilet, limbs shaking. Oh God, Tony, Tony _stop thinking about it._

He retches again, unable to hold back. God, he had probably told them to hurt him. Everything Abu and Raza and —

Obie had ordered a _hit on him._

What else was fake? Had he, had he always hated Tony? Oh God, oh God, he _had._ He had always hated him, and he’s just stood there and laughed at him behind his back while Tony — 

Before? When he was a kid? What else was just, what else was just a _ploy_ to get him weak, to get him —

Tony remembers Obie’s hand on the back of his neck. “Fuck your father, take engineering.” Of course, of course because Tony is the golden goose and what good is a golden goose that can’t lay eggs, what use to Obie is a Tony who can think for himself —

Tony remembers the alcohol he had pressed into his hand, he had been so young, he remembers, oh shit, he’s gonna be sick again.

He, he remembers those months spent in a back room in Obie’s house. _It’s best you don’t come out, Tony. It’s better if we keep it secret._ And Tony remembers hearing everyone downstairs talking and laughing and Tony had curled in his corner and tried not to shake apart.

“Obie?” He’d asked “Obie can I come out?”

He can’t stop the bile that keeps rising.

God, what had Obie be doing? Making Tony rely on him. Forcing him to —

Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it.

How much of what he told him was the truth? Did Tony’s parents _really_ not want to visit him? Is that why they didn’t come and see him? Did they even know? Did Obie —

This is the point where Tony realises with shocking clarity that Obie had his parents killed. Had his father killed, definitely, and his mother for good measure because they always hated each other.

Somewhere, Tony has a letter from his father begging him to reconsider. To not trust Obie. To take business, because it’s the thing that would make Tony stand on his on two feet.

Jesus, his father was right. His daddy had been right all along. What other pies had Obie had his fingers in? What other —

_“Obie,” he coughs “Obie, I promise — please, please let me out.”_

_“For your own good, m’boy. Remember what we said. You get straight and I’ll pay for the rehab.”_

_Tony feels his stomach tighten, feels the bile rise to his lips. “Please,” he whispers behind cracked skin “I think I’m dying.”_

_“You’re not dying.”_

_Tony scrapes his fingers over the wooden door, too heavy to break and no sharp objects to pick it with. “Obie please. Just, I want a little bit. Just get a me a little bit and I swear I’ll never take any again.”_

_“I think we both know that’s not true.”_

_Obie’s voice is low from behind the door, muffled. “Obie.” He croaks. “Please let me go.”_

_“No.”_

_Tony starts to cry. “I want to go home.”_

_A long sigh from behind the door. “Tony, I don’t know what to say to that. What home?”_

“Tony?”

He jerks where he’s sitting sprawled on the floor by his toilet bowl, head pressed to the cool basin. “Pepper.” He croaks.

She looks down at him. “You’ve been crying.”

He goes to say something and then just sighs. “I think I ate something bad.”

“I think you’ve been drinking.”

“I _haven’t_ been drinking.”

Pepper’s eyes soften. “It’s just the shock then.”

“Shock of what?” He says, trying to be nonchalant.

Pepper raises an eyebrow. “That’s how you want to play it?”

Tony snorts, lets his head roll down the bowl. “Okay,” he sighs “okay. Help me up?”

 

There is a man in Tony’s living room.

For a moment, Tony balks, because usually when there’s a man standing at his window he’s not wearing a long overcoat.

“Who are you.”

And the man turns.

Is his face familiar? Maybe. It looks… it looks familiar, strangely enough. Tony has seen this man before.

Something about a larger universe, something about war. Tony is focused on the eyepatch.

“Nick Fury.” The man says, and holds out his hand.

It’s their first official encounter. Emphasis on the official. They have met before. Tony wouldn’t remember, because babies generally don’t.

“I’m here to talk to you about the initiative.”

Tony blinks. “Get out of my house.”

“I have something bigger than you.”

“Did you break into my house?”

Fury raises an eyebrow and slinks over to his bar. “Do you mind?” He asks.

Tony watches him, not moving. “Are you allowed to drink on the job?”

He smirks, slightly. “You’re not the _first_ man I’ve shared a drink with on the job.” He pours himself a finger and then raises the bottle, offering it up.

Tony jars slightly at being offered a drink in his own home. “No thanks.”

Fury smacks his lips, leans back against the bar. “So.” He says.

“So?” Tony replies.

“I take it Coulson told you we’d be in touch?”

“Coulson?”

“The agent.”

“Ah. Yes. I was expecting more of a, hmm, an official appointment.”

“If I took the proper route I’d never get hold of you.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “God, don’t be drama queen.” He steps to his bar, snags a glass from beneath and pours himself a generous amount all in one smooth motion.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Oh, fuck off, you know what happened.”

Fury looks at him, maybe appraisingly, maybe not, but there’s definitely some humour in his eye. “I’m trying to be nice.”

“Nice people don’t break into people’s houses, Mr… I’m sorry, what do I call you?”

“Nick.”

“Okay, nice Nick. Why don’t you explain to me what was so important that you disabled my AI and snuck into my home?”

Fury drains his glass. “The Initiative, Mr Stark. The chance to make a change.”

“I’m doing just fine on my own.”

“Sure,” Nick says easily “but we extend beyond petty terrorism.”

“Strategic Homeland Intelligence Enforcement Logistics Devision? ‘Homeland’ kinda gives it away.”

“It doesn’t mean America.”

Tony snorts his drinks, sets it on the table. “Little green men?”

“I’m offering you a part of it.”

“No thanks.”

“It would be stupid to turn down something you know nothing about.”

“I know plenty.”

Nick stills. “Mr Stark,” he says, leaning against the counter “what _do_ you know?”

His brow furrows. “About SHIELD?”

Nick nods.

“Enough.”

“Interesting.”

“The answer’s no.”

“You’ll reconsider.” 

“Sure,” Tony says easily “get out of my house. I assume you know the way out, since you did a great job of finding the way in?”

 

They hold a memorial service.

No body, because planes that crash over the ocean don’t have a great recovery rate.

Some flowers. Some… friends.

Tony, when called upon to give a speech, ducks his head into his wine and presses his fingers to his eyes, waves them away with his hand. Pretends to cry, and people mutter in sympathy.

So sad, they say. Afghanistan, and now this. 

 

Pepper finds him, after.

“You were right.” She says.

Tony blinks. “Excuse me?”

She sighs, feeds her hand through her smooth hair. “That… that I wanted to think there was something wrong with you. That it was easier, maybe, than admitting that,” she swallows “we had been wrong. That what we were doing was… wrong.”

“It’s easy to disassociate.” Tony says.

“I know.” Pepper replies. “I just want you to know that I’m here. For it. For whatever it is you’re doing. For you. That I’m here for you.”

Tony smiles, but hides it by turning round. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, Potts.”

 

And that’s that, really.

No going back now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaand that's that, really. So next up is Iron Man two, which is giving me trouble bc it's just, there's so much to fit in? Like I have to do Hammer and Vanko, and then what Vanko meant to the Stark's, and then Stern, who is apparently HYDRA, and what that means with Obie, and then there's the whole dying thing.
> 
> Also, I'm pretty sure it's Fury's big week during IM2, so I know that I'm gonna have to involve Tony finding out that Captain America's alive, which will be fun.
> 
> But yeah, a lot to fit in. And I kinda just wanted to go to Avengers, bc Steve.


	50. Chapter 50

So.

Tony is busy. 

And when he says busy, he means it. His schedules’s always been tight, strict guidelines for work and play. It’s just that now there’s no time for either.

He’s not surprised when his hair starts falling out. It’s the stress. He travels at night, flying high above the sky, and the terrorists, when they see him coming, have learnt to just sit there and scream.

Still, it’s disheartening to wake up one morning and see a clump from the back of your head scattered on your pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a tiny little thing to get things going bc i've really fallen behind with writing this at the mo


	51. Chapter 51

“Mr Stark,” the senator says, hand oily, greasy, slick in his palm. Everything about this man is just, eugh, disgusting, right down to the over-large pores in the crease between his nose and cheeks.

“Senator Stern,” Tony says as respectfully as possible “you’ve been trying to catch me for a while.”

Stern laughs a nasally, thick laugh and claps him on the back. “You’re a hard man to get a hold of, Mr Stark.”

Tony grins brightly, blinking. “Shall we sit?”

“Of course.”

They both continue to stand until social etiquette gets in the way.

“I have to say, Mr Stark, the food here is _divine.”_  

“Really?” Tony says mildly, peering at the menu, fingers tapping a ticking beat on the table cloth. “I thought something more expensive would be to your tastes.”

Stern chuckles. “Oh, Mr Stark, I’m not fussy, this place will do quite well.”

“Yes,” Tony says, folding the menu “there’s a six month waiting list. You must have pulled a few strings.”

Stern chuckles again. “Mr Stark — ”

“Or we could discuss business?”

Stern’s eyes light up.

This should be Pepper’s job, really. It _feels_ like it should. This morning, Tony got back from a far flung corner of Pakistan. People are saying he’s stabilised east/west relations, if such a thing is possible.

Does it feel good? A little.

The future. Tony was right, it’s all about the future. Everything he does now it for the benefit of those who come after, all the children, all the generations.

“Of course,” Stern garbles “of course. Waiter? Could we have — I’ll have a chardonnay, something harder for Mr Stark, yes?”

“I’ll take sparkling water.”

“Are you sure? I know you like the fine stuff, Mr Stark.”

“Never drink on the job.”

Stern’s eyes don’t crinkle. “Some more wine for the table. Whatever’s most expensive.”

Tony smiles. “You said you had something important for me.”

Stern waves a hand. “Oh Mr Stark, that can wait. I’m more interested in, if you would excuse me, getting to know you.”

Tony’s smile turns strained and he nods at the waiter bringing their drink. “That’s not quite what I’m here for.”

“You’re welcome to leave.”

“What, and ruin your evening?”

“That’s very considerate of you, Mr Stark.”

Tony sips. “How’s the diet?”

“I thought we were playing friendly.”

“Do we need to pretend?”

The waiter brings an ice bucket and a bottle of red wine. They fall into silence.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Stern says.

Tony thinks for a moment. “No need.”

“No,” Stern says, considering, filling Tony’s glass to the brim “there isn’t, is there?”

“Excuse me?”

“Tony?” Comes a new voice.

“Oh God,” he mutters under his breath, because Stern has planned this, obviously, this place has a six month wait list and there’s no way that on this night of all nights Justin Hammer has —

“Hey, Tony!” Hammer says again, all nasally, persistent “I didn’t know you would — God, this is embarrassing.”

Tony fixes a smile on his face and turns to see Hammer, all slicked down and expensive suit that somehow still looks ill-fitting, and two women on his arm.

“You see I was just taking my dolls out for the night, but I guess… honeys, we’re gonna sit here alright? Are we doing this? Yes, we are doing this, okay, waiter, could we get an extra table please?”

Tony’s eyes slowly slide to Stern, sitting smugly opposite him, the slimy bastard.

“Wow, Tony, long time no see, amiright?”

Tony laughs forcefully. “Not long enough, really.”

Justin tucks the napkin into his collar. “That’s it, my man, that’s it. What’s there to drink, something good?”

“I’m allergic to wine.” One of the girls moans and Justin shoots her a look of irritation.

“You probably should have picked a better career then, right?” Tony says, and he throws in a wink, getting the girl to smile.

“They’re not hookers.” Justin says bluntly and Tony throws in a wink for him, too.

“If we’re all here, maybe it would be prudent to discuss our current situation?” Stern says with an oily smirk.

“No,” Tony says casually “I would rather my lawyers were present.”

“What?” Hammer says, tucking in his chair “No, Tones, no, look, this is just a meeting between friends, right? That’s all this is.”

“If you insist.” Tony says in a bored voice. The man at the bar is giving him a look, and for a moment, Tony is distracted.

“Mr Stark, you’re looking at the United States Government new primary weapons contractor.”

Tony blinks, jarred away from his daydream including mojitos and bow ties. “What?”

Hammer grins smugly. “I got the job, Tones.”

Tony takes a moment to process this information. “Oh!” He says “Oh God! Oh, you mean, you’re the contractor? Well, congratulations.”

The man at the bar sucks on a cherry.

“No hard feelings, right?”

“No hard feelings that you… _took_ the job I’ve been trying to palm off for months? God, no, none at all. Thank you, actually. It was really weighing on my conscience, you know, having to leave the country without proper weapons but, you know, real weight off my shoulders.”

Hammer can’t tell if he’s being mocked. “Yeah, well I couldn’t pass that off, right, Senator?”

Stern smiles again, obviously dissatisfied. “Ladies,” he says “maybe Mr Hammer can meet up with you later?” He scribbles something on a napkin. “Just hand that to the driver out front, he’ll take you were you want to go.”

They glare at Hammer disparagingly. “Do we still get paid?” One says bluntly.

Tony shakes his head, bites his cheek to keep from smiling. He catches the eye of the man at the bar and quickly looks away. He’s not interested, and there’s no point stringing him on.

There’s always someone who thinks they have a chance with him. Tony’s response is to shrug it off and occasionally ‘leak’ stories to the press about his immensely heterosexual experiences.

Still, it’s like some guys just _know._

The girls leave, and Tony has the sudden feeling of being cornered.

“Mr Stark, you know why I’m here,” Stern says “why we’re here.” He corrects.

“If it’s the suit you want, you can forget it.” Tony says, making to stand.

“Mr Stark!” Stern says “Let’s not be hasty. Dinner hasn’t come yet.”

Slowly, Tony sits.

“We’re prepared to offer you a deal, Mr Stark. This is, of course, off the record, yes?”

Tony tilts his chin. Waits.

“You obviously have some ethical disagreement on producing weapons, Mr Stark. I’m prepared to offer you a deal. You and Hammer, working in collaboration.”

“Oh?”

“Hammer will handle the day to day. He’ll make his weapons. And you will be working behind the scenes.”

“How so?”

“Your suit.” Hammer interjects. “Look, Tones, we’re both clever guys, right? But those suits are gonna take a hell of a lot of,” he rubs his thumb over his fingers “dough, if you know what I mean, right? Right?”

“You want me to build Hammer a suit and then call it Hammer tech?”

“That’s a strange way of putting it Mr Stark.”

“You’re both idiots. I’m leaving.”

“Tones,” Hammer says “look, we can make it worth your while.”

“Oh really?”

Stern smiles, leans in closer. “Tony, there’s money to be made.”

Tony’s lips quirk. “Oh,” he says “now I’m interested.”

Stern leans back. “Clever man like yourself doesn’t let an opportunity like this pass.”

“Absolutely,” Tony says “I don’t have any money, so it’s always a real deal clincher to be offered some.”

“Mr Stark, we can make life very easy for you.”

“As opposed to difficult? Is that a threat?”

“It is what you want it to be.”

Hammer’s head is swinging between the two of them. He’s out of his depth.

Tony sighs. “And what do you think you have the power to do, Senator?”

“Mr Stark, I have every power to have those suits taken away.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yes I do.”

Tony smirks. “Don’t try to bluff me.”

“Mr Stark, who’s bluffing? What do I have to lose? You are, quite frankly, incompetent. A drunk. A drug addict. I’m not entirely sure — ”

“Who told you that.” Tony says quietly.

“Told me what? That you’re a drug — ”

“Keep your voice down.” He hisses.

Stern leans back. “Ah,” he says “there we go.”

Tony doesn’t want to know where Stern got that information. It hasn’t come back to bite him as much as it should.

Then again, he always had Obie to keep the dogs at bay. 

“I’m going to have to ask you again who told you.”

“I think you know, Mr Stark.”

“What are you playing at.”

“I want the suits.”

A pause. “No.”

“Well then,” Stern holds up his hands “I don’t know what we can do about that.”

“I do.” Tony says easily. “You can turn around, and pretend this never happened, and in return I won’t blow your head off.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Tit for tat, really.”

There’s a moment of tense, terse silence while their food is placed on the table. Tony find he’s lost his appetite.

“Dig in.” Stern prompts.

“I’m not so hungry.”

“If you insist.” Stern says, blowing on his pasta.

Tony leans back, and, ugh, his fingers itch for a drink.

The man at the bar is suddenly looking that much more appetising.

He hates how he’s ruled by his impulses like this. Hates how he’s always been a slave to his desires, how no matter what he knows, his heart always ends up winning out.

Always.

He feels sick.

“Mr Stark,” Stern says “you should reconsider. This could be the start of a glorious friendship.”

“I have some strong people in my corner.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

“I’m sorry you must of misunderstood — by ‘people’ I meant my suits, which, by the way, are worth more to the public than you. I saw your scandal last year, Senator. You’re not doing so hot. In fact, I’d say what you need is to appear like your winning, right? Like you’ve done something worthwhile. Well, you’re looking at the wrong scapegoat.”

Is Tony imagining it, or is Hammer’s hand on his knee?

Stern’s face drops. “I’m not looking to scapegoat anyone, Mr Stark.”

“But you want my suits because?”

“… Because the United States Government will soon be sufficiently lacking in weaponry and I would like the be the man heralded as solving that problem.”

Tony snorts. “You know Ellis is going to win, right? You don’t stand a chance as it is.”

“Whether he gets his term or not is none of my concern.”

Tony rubs at the bridge of his nose, his head aching. God, where’s Pepper? She would’ve been great for this.

“You can throw anything at me, Stern,” Tony says softly “I will still win. You don’t get my suits — there’s no alternative to that. No bribes, or threats, or bargaining, that will ever make me change that. I would rather sell my mother that give you my suits, understand?”

Hammer’s hand is definitely travelling up his thigh.

Stern sets down his knife and fork. “Mr Stark, I don’t — ”

“I’m sorry, could you tell your buddy to stop molesting me? Stop molesting me.” Tony says, turning to Hammer. “What the hell is this?”

Stern’s face grows dark. “Hammer.” He says in a slimy voice. “Please refrain for just a moment.”

Tony hisses out breath from between his teeth. “That’s it, I’m done.”

“Tony!” Hammer says, voice strained “C’mon, dinner just started.”

“No,” Tony says, and he throws some bills on the table. “If you have anything else to say, you can direct it to my lawyers. Or who knows, you can fucking indict me.”

Tony’s head swims as he makes his way to Happy. “Move.” He grunts, resting his head against the cool glass. “Get me the fuck out of here.”

“Too much to drink?” Happy says, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror.

Tony waves a hand, and then throws up on the seat.

“Jesus!”

Tony groans, temples throbbing and the car stops short where it had been pulling out. “No,” Tony pants “keep going, get me home.”

“Tony, you just — ”

“I know what I just did. Not here, Happy, _go.”_

“Jesus, Tones, what happened?”

“Senator fuckface and — ” Tony burps “Oh God, black out the windows.”

“Are you okay?”

“I think,” Tony presses a hand to his fevered forehead “I’m coming down with something.”

This isn’t right, obviously. People don’t just come down with fevers, it doesn’t work this quickly, and Tony was fine up till ten minutes ago.

“You want… you wanna stop off at the hospital?”

“Pshht.” Tony says, screwing his eyes shut. “Of course I don’t.”

Happy has to stop to let him throw up again. “I don’t know,” he says uncertainly “I think you need a doctor.”

“Don’t be a dick.” He mutters, wiping sick from his mouth. “Get me home.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm going to be glossing over most of IM2... there's just so much that I'm not interested in, and I want to update regularly, and I'm actually worried this will be too long. I mean, it's about 120,000 words and we haven't even got to the avengers yet? Plus there's some inbetween pepper stuff that i need to sort out... so hopefully, I'll manage to get everything into a few more chapters and then just start the next part?


	52. Chapter 52

Tony spends the rest of the evening and most of the next day in bed with a migraine.

“Happy told me you were sick.” Pepper says, dumping his briefcase on the bed unsympathetically. “That’s not like you. Unless you’re hungover. Although Happy swears by you being 100% sober, so.”

Tony sits up in bed. “What,” he says “no chicken soup?”

Pepper frowns and presses a hand to his forehead. His cheek. His neck.

Tony stays very, very still.

Pepper clears her throat. “Well,” she says, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “You’re definitely hot.”

Tony actually has to just look at her and raise an eyebrow. “Pepper, you’re asking me to — ”

“Don’t say anything to that.” She says briskly, and she pops open the briefcase. “Two things for you to look over and then I’ll leave you in peace. Flushing Meadows says they can’t accommodate two main stages for the expo and if you’re serious about the tower there’s a meeting with the mayor of New York in three days. It’s the earliest I could get.”

“Great.” Tony grumbles, looking over the paper. 

“How did it go with Stern?”

Tony drops the paper and glares up at her. “Don’t fucking ask.”

“That bad?”

“Hammer was there.”

Pepper winces. “Ouch.”

“Yeah,” Tony exhales, kneading his shoulder “I think I might need some damage control pretty soon?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think Stern has some stuff on me.”

“Oh yeah? What kind of stuff?”

“Nothing you need to know about, just make sure we have PR on crisis mode.”

“Tony what could I possibly not know about you?”

“Like I said, nothing you need to. Just make sure it’s controlled. Don’t try to negotiate you’ll make it worse and if needed leak something to the press about Hammer having an orgy involving some lingerie and a dominatrix, also I know this is early but if we can I want the very top three floors of the tower to be a penthouse.”

“Are three really necessary? They’re huge.”

“It’s very necessary.”

Pepper crosses her legs, scribbles something down. Her pen is audible in the silence.

“You should get some rest.” She murmurs.

Tony looks at her. Takes in the slope of her shoulders, the way her nose curves, the dainty freckles. The light hair. The blue eyes with the steel behind.

“ — ony.” Pepper says. “Tony.”

He blinks. “What?”

Pepper raises and eyebrow. “I said, do you want anything?”

“You’re not my maid.”

Pepper blinks. “Well it’s the first time you’ve ever noticed.”

Tony closes his eyes and smiles. “Painkillers.” He murmurs.

“Your head hurting?”

“Migraine.”

Pepper sighs, and tells Jarvis to turn off the lights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter up tomorrow bc it's so short. I'm just keeping some of them like this to keep n a r r a t i v e f l o w


	53. Chapter 53

“Sir, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

Tony halts, wrench in hand, knocking his head against the bottom of his armour that hangs above him. “What?”

Jarvis pauses. Tony’s had this notice before.

It usually precedes death.

“I have an invitation to a funeral, Sir, enclosed with an obituary from today’s New York Times.”

“Someone close?”

“I’m not entirely sure, Sir.”

Tony wipes his hands on a rag and throws it back. “Read it J.”

“We are sorry to inform you that Byron Frost, of Frost & Co, has departed this world. A memorial service will be — ”

“Stop reading.” Tony says abruptly, swinging into his chair. “Anything important?”

“A date and time.”

“I can’t go. “

“Sir — ”

“No.”

Why would he get that invite? He didn’t know Byron Frost, short of banging his daughter in the eighties, and a lot of the nineties.

He wonders where Whitney’s got to.

“Send my condolences and, like, a bag of money. I don’t know.”

Tony does not like funerals.

 

There’s a strange puckering on the skin round his chest. Tony thinks it’s new, but it’s so hard to be sure, he just hasn’t had time to check anything out.

He asks Jarvis to call the doctor and set a private appointment. And then he goes back to work.

 

Right now, Tony’s working on his Mona Lisa.

Which is silly, really. The Mona Lisa is tiny. Tony’s tower will be big enough that people give each other glances and whisper ‘overcompensating’ out the sides of their mouths.

The real gem is what lies under, however. The first self-sustaining building in New York. Tony’s all for the future, and what’s better than something that could prevent the world from slowly dying a painful death? At optimistic estimates, Tony could have towers like this in countries all over the world.

The expo is a thorn in his side, slightly. He doesn’t want to have to deal with the technicalities — a year of being held accountable for every little slip up is a long time. But it’s okay, he has people for that, and the future has never looked brighter.

Living feels so, so good.

 

Pepper kicks off her shoes and tucks her feet onto the sofa. Tony frowns.

“How do you do that?” He asks.

“What?” She says, distracted. “Tony, what are you talking about?”

“The shoes,” he says “how do you walk on your toes all day?”

Pepper laughs. “That’s cute, Tony.”

“I’m being serious!”

Pepper shakes her head, smiling. “It’s an acquired talent. I think it’s something about building up muscles in the feet, or something.”

Tony makes a face. “That’s stupid.”

“Tony, I literally can’t count the amount of times I’ve found forgotten heels lying around house the morning after.”

“That’s different.” He says dismissively. 

“How so? I’m not sure what you mean.”

“They don’t mat — ” Tony sighs. “Nothing. Whatever. Just a passing observation.”

Pepper looks at him. “You need a haircut.”

“Great.”

“Do you want me to book an appointment?”

“No I’ll do it myself.”

“Funny. I’ll see if I can get someone to come in and do it.”

“Great. Can you cancel my doctor’s appointment? He was supposed to be coming tomorrow, but I can’t make it.”

Pepper raises an eyebrow. “Why do you need a doctor?”

Tony sighs. “Some things you don’t share, Pepper.”

“Tony.”

“Hmm?”

“Do you remember the summer of ’05?”

“… Yes.”

“Then you’ll no there is nothing you can’t share.”

Tony shakes his head. “Nothing, Pep. Nothing. Honestly. I’m just, probably, getting old. Or the stress. New lifestyle, all that jazz.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Headaches. My hair is falling out.”

Pepper blinks. “What?” She tilts her head as if examining “Holy shit.”

“Wow, thanks.” Tony grouches.

“No,” Pepper says “not like that, it’s just… I didn’t notice. I normally notice. Sorry. That’s weird.”

“Well it’s probably just stress.”

“Right,” Pepper agrees “which is why you should tail back a bit.”

“Can’t, Pep. You know that.”

“You didn’t have to have an expo. You don’t have to build a tower.”

“Yes, I do.”

“The future isn’t everything, Tony. You have to think about yourself.”

Tony snorts. “I did that for thirty years, look where it got me.”

Pepper looks away. “You have to think about other things, Tony. More important things. Think about… the people around you.”

“What people?” Tony bites out. “I don’t have people.”

“You have me.”

“You don’t count.”

Pepper fixes him with a glare, jaw set, eyes icy. “Well if that’s what you think.”

“Pepper,” Tony sighs “Pepper!”

“Oh don’t mind me,” she hums, standing “I don’t count.”

“Of course you count! You know what I was talking about, don’t be — oh for God’s sake sit down.”

Pepper looks at him. “Why don’t I count?”

“Because you’re close to me. And for some reason, you’ve stuck around. So I don’t count you in the same box I put everyone else in, okay? Sit down.”

She sits.

“Here,” Tony says “sign these.”

Pepper tsks. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Mmm,” he murmurs “chop chop.”

Her eyes narrow. “What do I get in return?”

Tony looks up. “… Your pay check?”

Pepper makes an irritated noise, and snatches the paper from his hands.

Some minutes pass, then some hours. They don’t talk, but the scratching of pen on paper is audible.

Then, Pepper swings round, presses her feet to Tony’s thigh. “Massage.”

Tony blinks. “Excuse me?”

“I’m working overtime. I’m working over overtime.”

Is something happening here? This is… this is very strange. Pepper has never —

Tony shrugs, and tugs her foot onto his lap. “I actually give great massages, so.”

She scoffs. “Please, you’ve never given a massage in your life.”

“Oh yeah? How’d you know? There’s a lot you don’t know.”

“Tony,” Pepper says, face serious as Tony digs his thumbs into her arch. “There is nothing I don’t know about you.”

Tony chuckles. “I really doubt that, Virginia.”

“Don’t try that with me, Anthony, I’m not playing around.”

“That’s not my name.”

“What?” Pepper blinks.

“Joking.”

“Why would you — what is wrong with you?”

Tony rotates her foot, twisting her ankle. “Says the woman who asked her boss for a massage. I’ve never asked you for a massage. Me. This is highly unprofessional.”

“Summer ’05?”

“Right.”

Pepper smiles and closes her eyes. She sighs.

“You’ve got,” she murmurs “good fingers.”

“Really.”

“Yeah,” Pepper mutters thickly “real… solid fingers.”

“Well, they’re important for my work.”

“That’s probably why they’re so strong.”

Tony frowns. “Are you drunk?”

Pepper’s face is flushed slightly in the low light. “When have I ever been drunk?”

Tony frowns. “You must’ve been. I must’ve seen you drunk at least once.”

“Tony I organise your parties I don’t attend them.”

“Well then attend the next one.”

“What happened to ‘I’m so busy, my hair is falling out under the stress.”

“I’m allowed to turn thirty-nine in style.”

“You’ve never come to my birthday parties.”

“When have you ever invited me?”

“True,” Pepper sighs, and she shakes her foot loose, puts the other in it’s place. “But I’m not extravagant.”

“Pepper I’ve seen the bills you’ve racked up on my cards buying yourself gifts don’t bullshit me.”

“Oh my God! Those are presents! It’s not like you remember my birthday.”

“I remember!”

“I mean, we’re the same month, same year, I don’t — how do you forget?”

“It’s not intentional.”

“I wonder about you, sometimes.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, Tony.”

Tony hums, presses firm fingers round the ball of Pepper’s delicate foot. Very delicate. It’s a miracle that she can fit them in those damn shoes with them breaking.

Silence, then. Tony thinks he should talk, she should talk, someone should say something, anything to cover up the silence.

But then it’s not necessary. Because Tony hears quiet snores.

“Am I that boring?” He mumbles to himself.

Tony doesn’t know what to do. Does he wake her up? Send her on her way? Or try to carry her to the spare room? God, imagine what that would look like if she woke up.

Instead, he finds a blanket from somewhere. Her head looks uncomfortable, so he gently, carefully, eases her body down onto the couch. Presses a pillow under her silken hair. Drapes her in the blanket.

Staying any longer would be strange, but his hand lingers on her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the first stebe scene yesterday. You'll be happy to know that stebe will be appearing in about, idk, five chapters? So a chapter every other day, idk you do the math. Stebe.


	54. Chapter 54

The flu-like symptoms persist, and it’s not long before Tony realises he’s dying.

After that, there are concoctions brewed up to hide the symptoms and medicine to help him live just that little bit longer.

But the ultimate cosmic joke is that the thing inside his chest is killing him.

His nightmares are bad, now. Or at least sometimes. They’re not often, but when they occur they leave him hugging his pillow and wishing desperately for someone to hold him or stroke his hair back from his sweaty face.

He thinks of Pepper, too. On good nights, there are dreams. And in those dreams —

Such strange things. He’s walking down a beach, holding her hand, and in front of them is their child, with big brown eyes and red hair, playing in the sand.

Others are not so family friendly.

But Tony doesn’t like to think on them. It feels like he’s betraying her, somehow. It feels wrong. Dirty. Although Tony doesn’t think any love between them would be that way. It would be pure, and clean, and Pepper would have no problem with brushing his hair from his face and telling him it’ll all be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next up is literally the worlds quickest whizz through iron man 2 so stay tuned folks


	55. Chapter 55

The night of the expo, Tony is throwing up in the toilet, and Pepper is standing behind him, and there’s two minutes till take off, and Tony is thanking his long standing reputation that Pepper thinks he’s drunk and nothing else.

 

So he’s dying, and he’s working double time, and he’s got the government on his ass. _In_ his ass. In between trying to stay alive and finding time to sleep, his body has decided to give up on him too.

It’s no real stretch to hand Pepper his position. She deserves CEO, she’ll be a good CEO, and she’ll finally put that major to good use.

(That’s right. Tony remembered.)

 

Tony throws up every morning.

He hides it, best he can.

The reactor in his chest is the problem. It’s not that he didn’t expect this. He’d accounted for it. Heavy metal poisoning isn’t something to toy around with.

But the reactor he slipped in his chest after Obie —

The old reactor. It did something to him. In-between it being ripped from his chest and the heavy use of the quite frankly unstable first model, something has happened.

One morning, he wakes up and some of his dry, brittle hair is lying on his pillow.

He realises that it’s been happening awhile. The insomnia, the mood swings, the… twitchiness. Those symptoms were just the start.

Now comes the nausea, the headaches, the circles under his eyes. The shaking hands, the blurry eyes, the fatigue, needing to sleep but not being able to.

It’s different to normal heavy metal poisoning. Whatever is wrong with him is something not covered. Not many people have had metal in their bodies and then a core of palladium in their chest.

It reminds Tony daily of what a freak he is really is.

 

Then he’s in Monaco, and the worst thing that could happen, happens.

There’s a whip around his neck and Tony barely has the breath to grind out ‘kinky’ before he’s tugging an arc reactor — his arc reactor — from the Russian maniac’s chest.

 

And it turns out, then, that his father had his fingers in many, many pies.

 

Tony does not trust Natalie. He doesn’t trust anyone, really.

But a hot redhead who turns up at his door with the exact qualifications needed for a personal assistant?

Please.

He feeds her false information from the start. 

 

Tony is dying.

He’s actually dying. His life is coming to an end.

After everything, after all he did, after the whole —

He’s dying, so what does it matter?

He drinks. He smokes.

One night, he finds himself with a little bag of white gold.

Eighteen years clean.

Even he can’t screw that up.

 

Natalie blinks at him. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“If you and to choose between — look, imagine you’re going to die, right? And you know that’s going to happen. Would you, and I’m being hypothetical here, would you kill yourself first?”

Natalie pauses. Tony sees the gears turn in her head.

“La vita è preziosa.”

Tony snorts into his beer.

 

“What do you want for your birthday?” Pepper asks one day while they’re up late, because the press is hounding him and Stern is on his ass and Hammer is being a whiny little bitch.

“Surprise me.” Tony replies, terse. There’s nothing she can give him that he hasn’t already got, and the one thing he needs she won’t give.

And he’ll be dead in a few weeks. He’ll be dead, and he’ll never tell her ‘I love you.’

 

“Tony, it’s a shark tank out there. You need to be careful.”

“Careful?” Tony says, and he takes out the reactor core, winces “I’m always careful.”

Rhodey eyes the steaming hunk of metal. “You’re dying.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want you to die.”

“Would you look at that, we agree on something.”

Rhodey spins his chair. “I mean it, Tones. Don’t think — this isn’t how you were supposed to go.”

“No,” Tony agrees “I was supposed to jump off a spring board into an empty pool at Chrissy Martin’s house party. But we don’t always get what we want.”

His eyelids tremble, his face is flushed. He slumps in the chair.

“Tony?” Rhodey says, and he sounds so distant. “Tony, Tony!”

Tony blinks awake. “M’ here.” He mumbles. “Just,” he sighs, slaps a hand against the counter “drifting off.”

“I’m scared you won’t wake up.”

“So am I.”

 

He’s got the dogs snapping at his heels.

At his birthday party, he gets very, very drunk. Enough that he puts on his suit and tries to blow of a woman’s head. And in the future, Tony will try to justify it by saying he needed an excuse to give Rhodey his suit, but ultimately, he was just very, very stupid.

 

Similarly, some years down the line, Tony will give an interview about the first days of the Avenger’s Initiative, in which he will say that it all started for him in a massive plastic donut.

 

Tony’s father had been a busy, busy man.

Tony realises that now, looking over his notes. Notes he never got to see when he was younger but are a hell of a lot more interesting now.

Tony tries to remember if his father ever mentioned SHIELD. Tony can’t remember his father ever disappearing for weeks at a time to sort an international intelligence organisation, but then again, Tony can’t remember much about his father at all.

He must’ve been at school. That’s why. His father, he had always disappeared to go search for Captain America. That was where he spent his summers. He must of headed this while Tony was away.

Which is strange to think about. His father, being capable. Being strong. Respected. Tony can’t shake the image that he’s always held, of an old, rabid man, who drank too much. He must have been young, once. Idealistic. Strong. Once, he must of used that sense of humour to charm rather than cut. He would’ve been a golden boy.

Tony’s never seen picture’s of his father as a young man. It’s just never happened.

There’s so much about his family he just _doesn’t know._ His father, what he did. Where his mother came from. Her family, what they do. His uncle, and where he went. He had a cousin, he remembers, he met him once. What happened to him? Why doesn’t he know?

Such a strange life he’s living.

And now, he’s dying. And now, Fury thinks his father can solve it.

His father, who stands in a video, glass perched on the table behind, and tells him that he was always his greatest creation.

Greater than SHIELD, than vibranium, than all the weapons in the world.

It’s an empty compliment, and does nothing to change his opinion. Tony is coming to terms with his father; the fact that one night he got drunk, and out of some kind of twisted love and a sense of pomposity decided to put this on a reel on the off chance Tony would one day view it does not do much for his general well being.

_Greatest creation._ What a prick. You’re only half of me, Tony thinks, and mom did all the hard work.

 

That night though, he dreams about his father for the first time in years.

_“And Steve Rogers did it all by himself. Walked out into enemy lines, no fear, Tony, no fear.”_

_“To save his friend?”_

_“Damn right. I don’t know a man alive today who’d do that for a friend. Times have changed, Tony.”_

_“And you flew them?”_

_“I did.”_

_“That’s so cool.”_

_“It’s very cool.”_

_“Was his friend special?”_

_“He was to him. He was a great guy.”_

_“Did he die?”_

_“A few years after. They never found the body.”_

_“That’s so cool.”_

_“He died, Tony. There’s nothing cool about it.”_

_“But everyone dies.”_

_“Jesus, what’s wrong with_ you? _God, you take after your mother, why do I ever bother?”_

_“Sorry.”_

_“Don’t apologise.”_

_“Sor — okay.”_

_“Steve Rogers, Tony,” Howard shakes his head “my God, what a man.”_

_“Were you friends?”_

_“What kind of question is that?” He snaps “Of course we were friends, don’t be stupid.”_

_“Sorry.”_

_“What did I tell you about apologising?!”_

 

 

But then he’s alive. Somehow. Some miracle.

Tony’s dad saved his life. Howard saved his life. What the fuck. What the actual fuck.

No time. No time to count his victories. Because then Vanko is growling down the line.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'wow tony u look like death' *tony looks at the camera like he's on the office*
> 
> also i've just decided, like, rn, that i'm gonna skip IM3 and what comes after and as soon as this chapter finishes we'll be jumping straight in with split POV's and stebe. I'll go over what happened in IM3 while continuing with the story, u feel?


	56. Chapter 56

And then.

Here’s how it happens:

Vanko’s suit explodes, and Tony is, like, 99% sure that Pepper’s supposed to go out with it.

And the thing is, Tony hasn’t got a crazy martyr complex, but he does have a crazy thing for Pepper, who, as it turns out, has a crazy thing for him.

And later, they’re standing on a roof, and the city is burning, and they’re kissing. Him and Pepper, like in a stupid daydream. It’s so weird.

But so, so good.

Then Rhodey has to ruin it, obviously, because he’s just a bitter old man. And Tony thinks he’s secretly very happy that Tony’s not dead, but some privacy would be appreciated, because Tony’s suit is suddenly far too tight.

 

Natasha Romanoff. Tony tries the name on his tongue, makes a face. Natalie Rushman, Natasha Romanoff. Both are fucking snakes.

“You don’t trust me.” She says, evenly, and that, look, it doesn’t scare Tony, but emotion is something he finds comforting in humans.

“No,” he says “I don’t.”

She nods. “I don’t blame you.”

“You could’ve told me.”

“You didn’t tell your girlfriend you were dying.”

“If you had told me you were spying on me, maybe I would’ve divulged that information to you.”

Natasha is monotonous. Tony hates her on principal.

“You don’t like what I put in your file.”

Tony grits his teeth. “I hate that you know that about me and that you’ve put it in a file that’s able to be read by any high-ranking member of your secret club.”

“You’re part of it, now.”

“I’m a consultant.”

“And so most of your liberties have disappeared.”

“I probably should’ve read the terms and conditions.”

Natasha taps out a beat on her hip. “You’re part of a bigger world, now.”

“I don’t want to be.” 

“Tough.”

Tony sucks his teeth. “You enjoy this, don’t you? Getting under my skin.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I wasn’t. I was just commenting on your shocking unflappability.”

“I’m Russian, Stark.”

“Great. Good for you. That means nothing to me. Occasionally dropping ambiguous remarks like that could literally mean anything.”

“I look forward to working with you.”

“Bullshit. With some luck, we’ll never meet again.”

 

“Tony?” Pepper calls from somewhere behind him. “Tony, I know you’re in here.”

Tony hiccups, sits up. “Pepper,” he blurts. “Shit.” He hisses.

He tries to cover the papers in front of him, scrunching them and pushing them and eventually just sitting on top of the desk, slightly out of breath, panting. “Pepper,” he smiles, leaning on his knee. “Hi.”

Pepper narrows her eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh?”

Tony clears his throat. “Just, just working on stuff. Just doing stuff. Seeing stuff, looking at — don’t go back there, don’t go back there.”

Pepper smiles, pauses. “Oh my god.”

Tony inhales. “Put it down.”

“Is that you?”

“What part of ‘put it down’ don’t you understand?”

“Oh my God, and that’s, you’re so small!”

Tony snatches the photo from her hand. “That’s not funny.” He says tucking into his back pocket.

But Pepper is still laughing. “How old are you, in these?”

“I don’t know. Eight, nine? Not old enough to know that red and green don’t mix.”

“Where was this?”

“A friends. I think, I can’t remember. I think I spent Christmas there that year.”

“You’re adorable.”

Tony sighs. “Yeah. I know.”

“And what’s this.”

“Pepper be gentle, it was a difficult time in my life.”

“Jesus, is that a perm?”

“No that was… that was my natural hair.”

“My God, Tony, what happened?”

“Aaand that’s enough of that.”

“What about this?”

“Everyone makes mistakes.”

“They’re sideburns!”

“I WAS MISGUIDED!”

“There’s misguided and then there’s — who’s that?”

“God, haven’t seen this in a while. That, I think, is my cousin. And that’s my uncle.”

“You look so happy.”

“Cute, Pepper.”

“Why are you wet?”

“He threw me in a lake.”

Pepper can’t stop laughing. “Where did you find these?”

“When I first moved I kinda just… brought a bunch of stuff with me. I didn’t really think about it. Just piled it all into a box.”

“You should sort these out.”

“I’m scanning them in. Just in case I ever lose them or something.”

“Good,” Pepper says warmly. “That’s good. You’re forgetful.”

They fall into a comfortable lull, Pepper leaning against his back, her breath in his ear.

“Who’s that?” She points out.

“That’s, that’s my old friend.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Tiberius?” 

“That’s the one.”

“For record, I never liked him.”

Tony snorts. “You didn’t like Ru, either.”

“Didn’t trust her.”

Tony hums. 

“And them,” Pepper points “who are they?”

“That was, would you believe, my girlfriend.”

“She’s out of your league.”

“Completely.” Tony agrees.

“How did she see past the hair?”

“Funny, Pepper.”

“You dated in college.”

“About four years?”

“Four years?”

“It’s complicated.”

“I can imagine.”

They stay like that for a while, sifting through Tony’s old photos. Old memories intermingling with the new.

 

Tony gets an email some two months later.

It’s on his secure SHIELD server. He doesn’t normal get mail through, so he knows it’s probably serious.

And he expected something big, you know? Honestly, he did. he expected alien invasions or terrorism or something.

Instead, there’s a brief note.

And Tony blinks, and reads it again.

And again.

And again.

Because this?

This can’t be real.

This is beyond the realm of human possibility.

Tony sends back a quick message.

‘ARE YOU SERIOUS?’

‘Like a heart attack.’ Nick Fury replies.

Because apparently, Captain America is alive.

 

Tony has one more port of call.

Justin Hammer is glaring at him from behind a glass screen, orange jumpsuit, the whole thing, and Tony just slides into the seat in front of him.

They sit there, in silence. Justine glares, Tony smirks.

“So,” he smirks down the line. “So.”

“You’re here to gloat.”

“Partially.”

“Then hurry it up I don’t want to miss my three 0’clock staring at the wall.”

“Oh please, you deserve it.”

“You are the last person I want to see.”

Tony sighs. “Justin, honey, don’t be that way.”

Hammer sucks on his teeth. “Get on with it.”

“I need to know what you were thinking.”

“Obviously I was thinking I was going to end you.”

“Did you want to kill me?”

“No. Not really. Actually, not at all.”

“Why not?”

“Why would I?”

“You’re a strange guy, Hammer.”

Justin scoffs, shakes his head. “You know how long they gave me? Forty years.”

“That’s light considering you effectively committed treason.”

“Sure. But I’ll be seventy-five when I get out.”

“Your stunt nearly killed my girlfriend.”

“How was I supposed to know Vanko would cross me?”

“How didn’t you know that Vanko would cross you? He was a homicidal maniac.”

“Yeah well obviously I didn’t see that fucking coming, did I?”

Tony exhales. “Look — Justin,”

“Justin? You want something from me.”

Tony can see Hammer sit up slightly at the thought.

“Not exactly. But you’re in jail now, so I’m hoping you’ll cooperate.”

“Oh really.”

Tony leans closer, phone pressed to his ear. His breath fogs the glass between them. “Stern knew — at that dinner, months ago. He knew that I, when I was younger, what I did. How?”

Justin looks at him. “You mean, he knew you were a druggie? Crack head? Crack whore? I’ve heard a lot.”

“Great. Then tell me where from.”

“Stern, obviously, the two-timing bastard. You know he was the one that suggested Vanko, right? I’m fucking innocent. I’m a scapegoat.”

“I don’t doubt it. Tell me the truth and maybe we can work on getting you out of here.”

Hammer blinks. “Are you serious?”

“Maybe. Convince me.”

Hammer squints at him. “He wasn’t specific. I always got the idea he was talking to someone close to you. I always thought it was your black friend.”

“You might want to keep your voice down. Did he ever say why the insider was giving him the info? Was it money?”

“It was a partnership. They wanted the same thing.”

“Which was?”

“I assume it was you lying in hospital bed, somewhere.”

The gears in Tony’s head are turning. If, hypothetically, Obie was the mole — which he probably was — then he and Stern would have a common goal. Obie wanted Stark to make weapons, he wanted the suit to be their next big one. Stern wanted Stark to make weapons, and he wanted the suits. If Obie had Tony’s suits, then he would sell them to Stern, right? And then Stern would be the hero who got Stark back on military contracts, and Obie —

Would just be Obie. He would continue doing whatever it is he does. But at some point, Obie and Stern would’ve hashed this out. And Obie would have told Stern this, as blackmail material. And so, really, there’s no knowing what else Stern could have on him.

Everything. Anything. Every Stark family secret.

Tony rubs his eyes. Okay. Okay, he can handle this. For now, Stern is gone. He’s dead to him, a nothing, a no one. But he’s like a bomb. Touch it, and it’ll explode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> countdown to stebe: one more chapter to go


	57. Chapter 57

**One year later:**

Tony crosses the marble floor of his tower, coffee in hand, the wide expanse of the lobby opening up to him. This is his tower. His. He built this, quite literally, with his own two hands. A mark of progress, prosperity, the future. This, right now, is him leaving his mark on the world.

Upstairs, is his girlfriend. His beautiful, solid, capable girlfriend. And tonight, James Rhodes will come for dinner with his new, apparently serious, lover.

What could be better.

Domestic bliss.

Tony taps the comm in his ear, the buzzing coming down the line. “Speak to me.”

“I can’t come.”

“What? Hello? Who is this?”

“Funny, Tony. I can’t come. Sandra just broke up with me.”

Tony makes a face and steps into the elevator. “Yeesh. Wow.”

“Yeah,” Rhodey sighs down the line. “You know, I thought this one would work.”

“You could come anyway?”

“I won’t be any fun.”

“Rhodey you’re never any fun.”

“She said I was too focussed on my work.”

“Point and case?”

“Not helping.”

“So you’re going to leave me to unveil my tower on my own?”

“Pepper will be there.”

“Yeah but I like an audience.”

“Then you should have gone wider on the press release.”

The elevator dings on his floor. “Funny,” he says, pressing a kiss to Pepper’s cheek “she keeps saying that too.”

Rhodey sighs. “Pepper’s with you, isn’t she.”

“Obviously.”

“Christ, what world am I living in that Tony Stark can have a stable relationship and I can’t?”

“Don’t beat yourself up, buddy,” Tony says, going for the decanter “we can’t all be me.”

“Tony no drinking!”

“Yeah, sounds like a real party you got going on.”

“I think I need to be, apparently, legally sober if I’m gonna be messing with power lines.”

“You doing that tonight?”

“Lighting the place up like a Christmas tree. Grand unveiling. That you’ll be missing.”

“Sorry, I’m too busy contemplating the possibility of dying alone.”

“Did I mention it’s self-sustaining? All green power? Lit up by,” he taps his reactor “little old me?”

“Once or twice. You know, I’ve heard it on good word that it’s a bit of an over-compensation.”

“Just ask Pepper, she’ll tell you the truth.”

“What will I tell?” Pepper asks.

“Nothing.” Tony says quickly. “You’ll tell him nothing.”

“Sounds like a sore spot.”

“My endowment has never had any complaints, Colonel.”

“I could’ve gone my whole life without hearing that.”

“So. Sandra. Sandra the…”

“Accountant.”

“Wow. Wow, that’s… dependable.”

“Tony.”

“No, I mean, I have nothing against that. I just, I don’t know. Maybe you’re shopping in the wrong supermarket.”

“Meaning?”

“You need someone that can keep up with you, Rhodes. Someone who doesn’t care if you get called out at one in the morning.”

“Like Pepper?”

“She actually does mind, so.”

“I can imagine. Look, man, I’ll see you soon, alright?”

“Right, right. Sure.”

“I mean it. I’m coming for you.”

“I get it, Rhodes, it’s fine. I’m gonna go shuck on my suit and light this baby up.”

“Have a good evening, man.”

“Will do. What’s the worst that can happen, right?”

 

Tony was right. It’s like Christmas, but with more him.

And then there’s an agent in his living room.

Tony knows his name. He definitely knows he name. It’s on the tip of his tongue, he once threatened to taser Tony and let him drool into the carpet.

Campbell, Cool, Coldridge, Cou, Coo —

“Phil!”

Phil? Oh? First name basis. No that’s fine. That’s, okay. You go ahead, Pepper.

The agent doesn’t smile, and that’s when Tony finds out, some 24 hours earlier, a homicidal God from another dimension cracked down a top secret SHIELD base.

Tony, for the first time, is being asked to act on his position as a consultant.

“Stay,” he murmurs to Pepper.

“You have homework to do.”

Homework? This is…

This is nothing he could ever believe, and nothing he ever wanted to.

Tony, as a consultant, deals with the occasional email from an irate Nick Fury asking for, most likely, technological upgrades. Which for the most part, Tony has no problem fulfilling. It’s nice working for an agency that genuinely wants to use his tech for good.

There’s the fact that his dad built the fucking thing, too. That’s a bit of a clincher. But he doesn’t admit that to anyone.

Now, though.

A god. A god called Thor. He had —

A god called Thor had landed in New Mexico. That had, that had happened. And then, his brother, my God. What a mess.

Aliens. Those were, they were real life aliens.

Tony’s inner child is screaming.

Pepper walks back in dressed in jeans and a sweater, tugging a carry-on behind her. She stands at his back, leans over his shoulder.

“That’s Natalie.” She points.

“Natasha.” Tony corrects.

“You’re working with her again?”

“Apparently.”

“Read her file.”

“I know enough.”

Pepper shakes her head. “I don’t trust these people.”

Tony smiles, leans back onto her shoulder. “You see that man, there?”

“That’s Captain America.”

“Damn right. Pepper what world are we living in that I’m going to fight an alien god with Captain America.”

Pepper laughs, softly. “Be safe, Tony.”

“Yeah,” Tony sighs “always am.”

She presses a kiss to the top of his head. “I mean it.” She whispers. “You don’t know what it’s like, watching you go off. Not knowing if you’ll come home.”

“I always come home.”

Pepper kisses him, but she’s frowning against his lips. They hug, and that’s that.

 

Tony doesn’t sleep until he’s read every inch of every file he’s been given, which is to say, he doesn’t sleep at all.

He doesn’t read Natasha’s, because he knows what she’s about. Instead, he focuses on the tesseract.

The tesseract.

Tony has heard of it, before. His father mentioned it, mention picking a jewel out of the ocean. He’s seen it in his notes. He knows, what he doesn’t think others do, that the tesseract messes with your head. That it can turn you into the worst of yourself.

He rubs at his face. God, this is out of his league. He should have slept, a little. Instead, he’s gonna get hyped up on coffee, which is never a good idea.

He hasn’t slept in a day. Ugh. Bad idea.

Instead, he keeps the suit primed. Ready. And reads, and reads, and reads.

Too much to take in. His memory, always sharp, is working on overtime. He has Jarvis process the information, ready for flight, so he can keep learning as he’s moving, but then there’s a sharp alert ringing in his ears, and he’s being called in.

Tony is just —

Look, he’s not a military man. And this is not they way his life was supposed to go.

But he suits up. Steps outside, into the night. Thinks of Pepper.

Tony has a before, and he has an after. Before Afghanistan. After Afghanistan.

Tonight’s the night his life changes forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: STEBE *part popper explodes* *mariachi band crack out the tunes* *mini parade through ur bedroom* *hula dancers deck u in flowers*


	58. Chapter 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *light comes down from above* *takes u by the hand* *fairy dust falls from the sky* STEBE
> 
> so it only took us 58 chapters, 125,635 words, 6,910 paragraphs and 411 pages to reach this point.

He meets Steve Rogers in the flesh for the first time at a square in Stuttgart. First impressions? Strong, obviously. Fit, good looking. Appears to be adapting well to the twenty-first century, probably because of the serum in his veins.

He doesn’t look at Tony when he greets him. “Mr Stark.”

“Captain.”

Although, he does greet Tony first. All variables, interesting, logistical variables.

The God — Loki — comes quietly.

Something’s wrong, maybe, because prisoners aren’t supposed to be willing. Especially when they’ve travelled such a long way.

The Captain notices that, too. Tony can appreciate it. That’s good. He’s obviously clever. Astute. Sharp.

They hate each other from the start.

 

Romanoff is silent when she walks him down the corridor.

“You can sleep here.” She says, pointing to a basic room, bed, table, chair. A closet. No niceties.

Tony is exhausted, but he can’t sleep. She knows that.

“So what’s the deal?” He murmurs “You gonna play spy or are you gonna tell the truth?”

“I don’t have to say anything.”

“Who are they. The gods. Where do they come from. Asgard? Please.”

“You think they’re a threat.”

“Obviously. Our gothic nightmare, yes. Thunder thighs, not so sure. I’m asking your opinion.”

“I thought you never wanted to see me again?”

“I didn’t. And I still don’t.”

Natasha pauses. “We have don’t have another choice but to trust him.”

Tony takes that in. “And the Captain?”

Natasha smirks. “How can you not trust him?”

“I always find a way.” Tony finishes.

 

“Mr Stark,” Coulson says “a pleasure to see you again. So soon.”

Tony grunts, stares at the tablet. Planning for every variable, that’s what he’s doing, and he does not trust Fury to keep Loki in check.

“They’re waiting for you, on the main deck.”

Tony ignores him, flicks through the screen. He’s trying to think and he hasn’t fucking slept in days he hasn’t got time for this shit.

“You know, a lot of the agents are great admirers of your work.”

Tony grunts.

“I brought you coffee.”

Tony blinks, looks up. Coulson gives that bland smile, and sets it on the table.

“Like I said, they’re waiting for you. You might want to freshen up.”

Tony inhales the liquid, hot, and, ugh, fuck he needs more but there’s no time.

“Thanks,” he gasps “that’s, that was good.”

“We need good coffee,” the agent replies “a lack of would result in a mutiny.”

“That’s funny.” Tony says. “Hey, you made a joke. That’s funny.”

“I wasn’t joking,”

Tony blinks. “You must be fun at parties.”

“Incredibly so. Just ask Fury.”

Tony pauses. “And that’s — ”

“That was a joke, yes.”

Tony lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Popular with the ladies, agent.”

“There was a cellist, in Portland. But my job is strenuous. She couldn’t keep up.”

“I have a buddy with the same problem.”

“Most people in our situation feel the same way.”

“‘Our’ situation?”

Coulson blinks. “A military perspective.”

“I’m not military.”

“You’re not a civilian, either.”

Tony doesn’t want to think about that, now. They’ve wasted enough time as it is.

“So,” he says, throwing on an old shirt “Portland.”

 

Bruce Banner is a novelty.

A big, green, fighting machine. He’s also terrified, clearly. Not of the threat, not of Loki, but of himself. Terrified of his own skin.

It’s an awful way to live, but Tony can empathise.

 

Thor. Thor. Thor, the Norse god. Tony used to read those stories, of Astrid and Loki and Fenrir. Alone in the library, back at school. He’d loved that shit.

And now this is an actual —

Is this a hallucination? Maybe this is just some mass hallucination. That’s it. Or maybe Tony’s insane. He can’t tell. This can’t be real.

 

The tesseract brings out the worst in people, Tony knows. And the Captain, he is so cutting. Where did a man like Rogers learn to be so cruel? Tony, it’s in his blood. He’s been snapping and whipping since he was a boy. He learned to be cruel, and he wore it well.

Which is why it’s so strange coming the blond adonis in front of him. What did he do to make him hate Tony so much? Is it on principle? Is it his father? His hair, his eyes, his looks? Maybe he just grates on the nerves.

But Tony bites back. He’s not afraid to, even though it leaves him feeling shaky inside.

 

“PULL THE LEVER!”

Tony feels his spine crack and his joints pull as he’s swept under the rotors of the helicarrier, round and round and round and “FOR FUCKS SAKE ROGERS PULL THE FUCKING LEAVER!”

Tony spins out into open air, sees the form of the small carrier taking away Loki and tries to swing round, only to start falling.

Engage thrusters, ignore the pain, ugh, fuck, this is harder than he thought.

 

The agent dies.

Rogers looks at him. “Is this the first time you’ve ever lost a soldier?”

A soldier? He’s lost plenty. He watched them blown apart, in Afghanistan. He saw Yinsen suffer through a last, aching breath. His father’s chest crushed by a wheel, his mother’s head hanging on by a thread.

But he is not a soldier. Rhodey is a soldier. He follows his commands, puts his life on the line for a job. And Rogers is a soldier. And all these agents are soldiers. But Tony can’t be a soldier.

Because soldiers die.

 

Soldiers die, and Tony stares his mortality in the face, because in front of him is a god.

A real God. Tony can feel power radiating from him.

From that staff.

Tony feels real fear, when Loki presses it to his chest. And he feels it. He feels the power surge through his bones, his ribs, breaking him up, to his mind.

Like ice.

And then is fizzles out. Kapoot. The God, blinks, suddenly so human.

And then he throws Tony out the window.

 

Fighting. One after an another, alien, alien, alien, and Tony feels like an extra in War of the Worlds.

He sees blurs, here and there. The Captain, the Widow, the Archer. He holds his belief that the Hulk will come.

The God, and his brother.

People screaming. A mother runs holding a baby. A man carries another with a head wound to safety, only to be burnt alive by an aliens gun for his trouble.

Death, and burning, and terror.

And then a fucking space whale.

Tony flies through the fucking space whale.

That’ll be a story to tell the grandkids.

 

And then, Fury’s voice in his ear.

This is it, then. Afghanistan, Palladium, Nuke.

So many people will die, if he does not do this. There is no other option.

And it’s that finality, that utter futility, that has him cracked apart.

This is war.

The Captain’s voice in his ear, ‘one way trip.’

(He’ll so many nightmares, and he’ll wake up screaming, and that’s always the crux, the blonde soldier and his one way trip straight to hell)

Pepper. His whole life.

Snuffed out.

Please pick up, honey. Please, sweetie. Let me hear your voice one last time. Please, let me die knowing I had something. Don’t let me die alone.

Maybe they’ll win. Maybe he’ll die, but they’ll win.

This is a war, and Tony is collateral damage, and maybe, just maybe, he is a soldier.

After all, soldiers die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> u might want to hop on over to the extra mini-chapter that i put in FOR DRAMATIC EFFECT
> 
> also do u feel like this notes take away from the drama or are they a welcome interlude like


	59. Chapter 59

It’s so dark, in space.

Tony can’t —

An abyss. Death. He sees a world tremble, and although there are no words, he is struck by the futility. 

Of everything. Life is futile, life is fleeting. The future does not matter.

He’s sees everything, in that moment, expanded, times ten. The universe blown up, and he sees the Earth and it’s inhabitants.

Bacteria. Nothings. Microbes crawling over a rock in an infinite chasm. 

Human’s were never meant to leave Earth. Tony was never meant to see this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay! everyone dies haha!


	60. Chapter 60

You see, Tony fell asleep. And we he woke up, they told him they won.

“Oh,” he blinks “oh, okay.”

His mind moves slowly, and for the life of him, he can’t work out why Captain America is sitting by his chest.

But then he smiles.

“Shawarma?” Tony asks, because he saw this great place while he was being beat on by some insect aliens. “That’s, yeah. Let’s do shawarma.”

The captain helps him to his feet. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Tony blinks “fine. Just, I need to get this off. Could you do me a favour, it’s shot to hell, just at the back of my neck there’s a catch, just — ”

The Captain runs his thumb along the ridge and snaps it clean, letting the armour fall to his feet, collapse in on itself.

Tony sighs, steps out, knees shaky. “Okay,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “Right. We should.”

No one moves. No one talks.

No one knows what to say.

“We should get back in touch with, uh,” the Captain blinks. “SHIELD. We should call them.”

Life is sucked back into everyone’s lungs. “Yeah,” Tony agrees “yeah. We should. I’m gonna, I’m just — ”

 

When he wakes up, he’s lying on a bed.

It’s one of the helicarrier’s little rooms, the medical bays. He blinks, licks his lips, tastes death in his mouth.

God, he needs a drink.

The world swims around him, hard to focus. He’s drawn in by a voice.

“You’re awake.”

Low, subtle. “Fury.” He croaks.

He tries to sit up but he’s caught by something, his hands. “What?” He manages, voice hoarse. “Why am I — what happened? Why — ”

“Relax.” He says. “Standard procedure.” And he unsnaps the catches on his wrists. “Just in case.”

“Just in case.” Tony repeats. He frowns. “How — ”

“A few hours. You’re tired.”

“No shit.” Tony says, rubbing his wrists.

“Do you remember what happened?”

“I remember waking up. Rogers took off my suit.”

“Okay,” Fury says “so some memory loss. Not unexpected. You got shawarma.”

Tony blinks. “We actually did that? God, I thought I was dreaming.”

“Apparently not.”

“Am I needed? For, for like, debriefing or something?”

Fury looks at him carefully. “No,” he says finally “no I think you better get on home.”

“I don’t have one, now.” Tony sighs. “God, that tower was brand new, you know that? Self-sustaining. Did I mention it was self-sustaining?”

“Once or twice. You’ve got a guy out here who was late for the party saying he’s taking you home.”

“What?”

“Rhodes.”

“Oh.”

“You did good work out there today, Stark.”

“Great.”

“I mean it. We got lucky. But we couldn’t’ve done it without you.”

Tony exhales, rubs his temples. “Cool.” He mutters.

“Cool? That’s all you have to say.”

His head hurts. “Nick,” he murmurs.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

He slides off the bed, presses his hand against the wall, lists to the side. “God,” he mutters. “Have you got, like, an aspirin? Painkiller. My head’s, it’s spinning — ”

“Easy,” Fury says, catching him before he slumps to the ground. “For God’s sake, slow down.”

He can do that. He can slow right down. He can just —

 

When he wakes up for the second time, he’s in a different bed.

Musty. Old. Familiar.

He blinks up at the ceiling, takes in the red canopy. Tony’s seen this before. He’s been here before.

“Tony,” someone whispers “honey are you awake?”

“Pepper.” He murmurs.

“Hey, Tony.” She says softly. “Hey.”

He smacks his lips. Outside, he hears birds. Light streams through the old window.

Pepper strokes his head. “You’re all scrambled. The fall, the… space. You’re a bit out of whack. A day in bed is all you need.”

“Pepper,” he says again, smiling slightly. “Pepper, Pepper, Pep — ”

He sits up, gasping. “Pepper?” He blinks “Pepper, Pepper!”

“Tony,” comes that voice again, and he realises it’s behind him, he sees the hand on his shoulder. “It’s just me, sweetie. Come on, it’s just me.”

“You didn’t answer my call,” he blurts “why, God. I thought you were dead. Why didn’t you answer? Why wouldn’t you, why — ”

Pepper eases him down the bed, presses a pillow behind his head. She’s wearing an old tracksuit, her hair tied in a loose bun. “I’m sorry,” she whispers “I was watching you.” She kisses his hand and curls at his side. “You, Tony, you flew into — ”

“Don’t,” he bites out “don’t. Don’t, just,” he slides down the pillows, his neck aching, every joint weary. “Stay here.”

Pepper rests her head on his chest. “It’s okay.” She murmurs, smoothing a hand against his bare torso. “You’re okay.”

“I wasn’t okay.”

“Tony — ”

“I wasn’t okay. I was going to die.”

“You’re alive now.”

Tony sucks in a breath, closes his eyes. “I was so scared.”

“Tony,” Pepper says, and her own voice is cracking. “Shh, don’t say that.”

He rolls onto his side, takes in her face. The same blue eyes, the same strong nose, wide cheekbones, porcelain skin. The same beautiful woman.

So why does Tony feel like he’s changed?

He smiles, eyes closing. Inhales the scent of the pillow.

Pepper thumbs at a scar on his forehead. “Where did you get this?”

“Oh,” he mumbles “I was, uh, punched. By an alien.”

Pepper chuckles and Tony snorts into the pillow. “Bet you didn’t think you’d ever have to say that.”

Tony doesn’t like talking about it. It makes it too real. But joking helps.

“Where are we?” He mumbles, trying to slide back into sleep.

“Your mansion.”

“Which one?”

“5th Avenue.”

Tony opens his eyes. “Why are we here?”

“It was closest to the helicarrier. They want you close for debriefing.”

“Here?” Tony says, incredulous. “God. God, I haven’t been here since — ”

He sits up, blinks. It’s chilly, in this room, and he crosses his arms over his chest. “This is my parents room.”

“It it?”

“This is really weird.”

“Why?”

“It’s my parents room. Ugh, God. I was conceived in this bed. Eww. Oh God. Let’s move. Let’s, there has to be somewhere else.”

“Not ’til you send the cube away, Tony.”

“You know about that?”

“You left your homework lying around.”

“Whoops.”

Pepper helps him to the old kitchen. It’s so strange, being in here. It feels like a lifetime ago he’d sit in this seat and Jarvis would cook while Tony chattered away, first stuttering, stumbling, and then confident, crooked, and then cruel and callous.

Pepper slides a box of pizza out from a shelf. “I only had two slices.” She says. “Eat the rest.”

Tony sets on it ravenously. “How long have I been sleeping?”

“Two days since the battle ended.”

 _War_ Tony corrects. A battle is one fight in a series. What Tony experienced was war.

He's not sure if it's over, yet.

“The casualties?”

Pepper’s eyes flick up. “Not as high as they could be.”

“You know, I saw a child with a crushed skull — ”

“Not as high as they would be if New York was a radioactive dump.” Pepper says swiftly, cupping his cheeks. “Don’t do that.”

“People died.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know that. I know that. I’m, it’s a travesty. It’s awful. We were invaded by aliens. It’s — ”

Pepper kisses him “No.” She says. “No.”


	61. Chapter 61

A bright, warm day.

Tony wears a suit, neatly pressed. He holds the tesseract in his hand.

So tempting, to take it out and —

Besides him, Bruce Banner. Clint Barton. Thor. Natasha Romanoff.

Steve Rogers.

A bright sunny day, and a chained God. Thor nods at him, and Tony relinquishes his hold on the cube.

An acknowledgment, and then he’s gone.

Tony will drive Bruce to the airport, and then he’ll be gone, too. Natasha will go back to the day job. The archer — Clint — will probably get some therapy.

Rogers will —

Adjust.

“Tony,” he says, and he holds out his hand. No hard feelings.

“You look after yourself, Captain.” Tony says, smiling. “Don’t do anything too reckless?”

“I won’t be flying nukes into space, if that’s what you mean.”

“Touché. I was thinking more binging on Kim K for a week and not remembering your name at the end.”

“The dangers of modern living,” Rogers agrees “although you’re too late. You could've warned me a few weeks back.”

Tony snorts. “No doubt. I’ll see you around, Captain. Give me a call if you need anything.”

“I might take you up on that.”

Tony smiles.

And then he climbs into his car. Bruce says something, and he laughs.

But it’s changed. Everything’s changed. And Tony is left with an ache in his throat and a warm buzz on his skin where Steve’s hand had touched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part five up next. Part five w o a h.
> 
> First Steve POV coming up next so hold onto ur horses
> 
> ugh there's just so much plot for this I need to get down and sorted into an order. It's just that I'm really averse to taking time out to actually do that, so.


	62. Part Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *screams* PART FIVE: NOW WITH EXTRA STEBE (and actual plot)

When Steve was 7 years old he attended the church two blocks down from the apartment in which he lived with he mother. 

Sunday mornings were spent being tussled into that suit with the stitches where the underside had had to be sewn up after it got caught on a nail twice. His mother would wake early so she could clean their one bedroom apartment until it was pristine, open the windows to let early morning smog into the house. She would clothe herself in her Sunday best, the only pretty thing she owned (the rest had been pawned off) and gently tie her hair with a worn ribbon, rough hands masking their delicacy and lined face the only outward show of tiredness within.

She always donated when the offers basket came down the pews. 

Some days they would go back home. If there was food to be had they would break fast on the round wooden table next to the kitchen window. 

They would sit in silence as the sounds of Brooklyn came singing through the window. Seventy years later, Steve can still trace on any surface the faded marks and scratches from his seat pressed beside his mother.

On winter days when Steve was too ill to move his mother nursed him gently. Time passes clouded when he thinks of those times, hot breath on his cheek and the slow drag of a cloth upon his brow.  
He remembers vaguely how once the doctors told her he was not going to last through the night. How she could not afford the medicine and how he was going to die. He remembers how his mother cried and him trying to tell her that it was okay, that is wasn’t her fault, that he loved her and he would see her in heaven. And how she held his hands and kept asking is he was ready.

And how somehow he woke up the next morning. And the next. And the next.

Every night his mother would kneel next to him.

‘Our father, who art in heaven…’ 

and count in rosary beads. And how, despite it all, they were happy.

She died not long after.

 

There’s a low buzzing in Steve’s ears.

He flicks the comm, tries not to frown. Natasha glares at him from across the floor.

Instead, he tugs at his collar, the tight tuxedo, and tries not to look too out of place. Which he so obviously is.

Their target? Virginia Potts, CEO of Stark Industries. Stark, being Tony Stark, or Iron Man, apparently depending on what mood he’s in.

Steve has finds himself in an interim period; with SHIELD gone and Bucky loose, he’s been drifting from place to place, ostentatiously with the intention of finding the Winter Soldier, mainly trying to find his way back round the world.

Which is easier said than done, all things considered.

He was laying low. After the HYDRA debacle, Steve had found that the general atmosphere surrounding him and his superhero friends had gotten considerably colder.

Which isn’t to say that he was hated. The opposite. Natasha says that he has staying power, that to even those who hate the heroes could never turn their back on him. He killed Nazis! That’s the ultimate prestige, Natasha explains.

Steve hasn’t seen any of his… team, since he went under. Since Bucky came back, and went away. Since SHIELD was destroyed, and HYDRA freed. And since he and Natasha let loose the countries most sensitive documents onto the internet, leading to the largest scandal in American history, trumping watergate and Hiroshima and any illegal wars the US were interested in.

Too many high-ups were implicated. Far too many. It stopped being a domestic problem when a British ambassador and Russian military general’s name were dragged through the dirt.

Steve wasn’t picky with what they released; as far as he’s concerned, it’s a job well done. It’s not a governments place to keep those secrets from people. Thousands upon thousands of state secrets, actually. Mainly SHIELD’s, but SHIELD has a lot of dirt on a lot of different people. And he knows that Natasha abbreviated her own file, as she is wont to do. So far, it hasn’t come back to bite him on the ass.

But a lot had happened since that day two years ago in the New York sun, watching Loki be dragged back to Asgard and the tesseract finally with him. Steve had been roped straight into the finer workings of SHIELD, which makes him a little sick to the core.

Because he spent years trying to put HYRDA down. Years.

He gave his life. Years, spent in ice —

And then he helped them. He felt grateful to them, in that pathetic way that only he is capable of, for giving him a home.

And all the while, HYDRA must’ve been laughing.

No use, now. No use trying to fight that. The past is the past.

(Steve would know.)

Across the room, with the people milling around, Natasha inclines her head. Steve blinks, lost in a daze.

What? He mouths.

Her face contorts, lips purse. She shucks her head to the left, trying to point something out.

Steve squints, looks to her left. He shakes his head. I don’t understand.

Natasha’s face twists with frustration. She raises her eyebrows, widens her eyes, and then suddenly turns slack, turning away as if to hide her face.

Steve frowns, moves to follow her. “Natash — ”

“Captain?”

Steve pauses. Slowly spins. Flicks a smile.

“Miss Potts,” he says, torn between the need to rub the back of his head and shake her hand. “Hello.”

She raises an eyebrow, looks past his head. Waves at Natasha, who blinks, pretending to have just noticed.

“What a coincidence,” Potts drawls “I didn’t know this was an important cause for you.”

Steve nods, tries not to panic. “Well,” he says “the, uh,” his eyes search for a banner, or a poster, or something that advertises the fucking cause. “The,” he squints “the — ”

“Syrian… refugees?” Potts supplies, slowly.

“Yes,” Steve nods, and he kicks himself inwardly for not expecting this to happen “God, my mind just blanked.”

“Sure,” Potts says “I’m sure. Are you going to tell your friend to join us, or…?”

“Oh, Natasha?” Steve turns, sees her caught in conversation with an old man “She seems, doesn’t she seem busy? It’s probably — ”

“Cut the bullshit, why are you following me?”

Steve lets his smile fall. “Nothing official.”

Potts examines him closely. Trying to tell if he’s lying.

Her eyes narrow.

“Follow me.”

 

Potts pours herself a glass of champagne from the bottle delivered to her room. She hands Steve a glass, and then Natasha.

“Oh, calm down,” she says irritably “it’s not poisoned. I have better things to do.”

“This is very nice of you.” Natasha says, tone too polite to be serious.

Potts meets her eyes. Natasha raises an eyebrow.

“I know what you want.” She says finally, sipping, sitting herself down at the seat of the desk. “I owe you nothing.”

“We’re not looking for secrets.”

“I saw your stunt at the Pentagon, Romanoff. Very clever. Hilarious, in fact. You know that little trick you played released 16% of Stark Industries R&D database to the world wide web?”

Natasha pauses. “I checked.” She says slowly. “Before I released them. Stark Industries wasn’t listed.”

Pepper smiles a bitter smile. “No,” she says “you checked for Natasha Romanoff. And then, very quietly, put all the details of project SI D-XM1, M2, M3 and M4 online. As well as designs for a new self-sustaining power source that has the capability to be the world’s most destructive weapon.”

Pepper sips; another pause. “It’s strange, because SHIELD shouldn’t’ve had that info, you know,” she purses her lip, hiccups into her mouth “it’s almost like SI had a spy who was reporting back to them. Strange.”

Natasha doesn’t go pale. She just solidifies. “That information was placed on a select file for Fury’s viewing only.”

“Fury’s dead, Natasha. The information wasn’t released with your first little purge, but anyone clever enough soon figured it out to be able to get what they wanted. A lot of sensitive information there, Romanoff. A lot. Tony’s having to fast-track the new Dubai tower. He predicts we’ll have suits on the black market by Christmas, and arc-powered missiles by this time next year.”

She sips again, delicately rearranges her dress. “So,” she says, “he’s very busy.”

Steve swallows, throat dry. “Obviously that wasn’t our intention.”

“Of course not, Captain.” Potts says, eyes hard.

“I’m not a Captain, anymore,” Steve says smoothly “no military, no SHIELD.”

Potts snorts. “No, you’re just a regular old civilian now like little old me, hmm? Once a captain always a captain. Mr Rogers doesn’t suit you half as well.”

Another lull. Steve can see the gears in Natasha’s head turn.

“Extremis,” Potts supplies for them “you want to know about Extremis.”

“We need to know your clean.”

“So I won’t be a danger to society? I’m fine.”

“Are you — ”

“There is no Extremis virus in my veins, Captain.”

Another pause. “We’re sorry we couldn’t be there.” Natasha says.

“No doubt.” Potts swallows, and stands, turns, braces her hands on the desk.

Steve locks eyes with Natasha. She imperceptibly shakes her head.

“So what is it,” Potts says suddenly, looking up. “What are you here for? Slow day? What could you possibly want?”

She turns, but she’s not talking to Steve.

“We haven’t heard from Stark in months.”

“He’s busy. He was recovering, and then — well, then someone released his suit plans to the world. He’s not doing so great.”

“You blame me.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“It wasn’t my intention.”

“I know.”

Steve picks up before the silence gets too long. “I haven’t heard anything about it,” he says “about the suits. I haven’t, it’s not on the news. No explosions, no black market deals. What is it? Where’s the trouble?”

Pepper looks outraged, slightly. “Are you telling me,” she says slowly “that you have absolutely zero perception of what you’ve done?” She points at Natasha “What she’s done?”

“Not entirely.” Steve says, crossing his arms. 

Potts gives a dry laugh. “Two weeks after those helicarriers went down, SHIELD’s assets were put up for sale. That’s the official story. Unofficially, an insider started selling off top secret documents for a hefty price. We don’t know who they were, but the place was crawling with HYDRA, it wouldn’t be a long jump for one of them to sell out.”

“And there was, there were specs. For Stark’s suits.”

“Information SHIELD shouldn’t’ve had. Information Tony was assured would never pass into their hands.”

Natasha stares at her. “What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing. You don’t have to say anything.”

Natasha bristles. “But you want something in return?”

Pepper looks vaguely confused, and very angry. “In return?” She says, voice dangerously soft “As if this was a transaction? I have a man at home going out of his mind and a stock that will drop so hard it’ll make rock through air look like a feather. No, I don’t want anything in return,” she sets down her glass “I want you to right what you’ve wronged. Fix it. Fix it, or you can’t rely on Stark Industries for backing — yes, I know he’s been funding your little round the world trip, Captain, don’t look at me like that — fix it, so Tony doesn’t have to. We have enough on our plates, and this is the nightmare scenario.”

“You want us to drop everything to do what, Potts? What exactly do you want from us? Do you even know who bought the intel? Do you — ”

“Of course we fucking don’t. Do you think, if we knew, I’d be here talking to you? That I wouldn’t have kicked out the door? Use your sense, you assholes.”

“Pepper — ” Natasha starts again.

“No,” Potts says, and she turns back to Steve “you know, you’ve been awfully quiet, Captain. Having fun chasing down ghosts?”

“How do you know about that?” Steve says, voice level.

“You are using my fiancé’s cash to bankroll your search!”

“I’m using the Avenger’s fund.”

“Which is paid for by Tony! Or donated to, I don’t know. I don’t know what you idiots do in your free time, you heroes, that’s not my business. Tony Stark is my business.”

“Tony Stark is as much a hero as Steve.” Natasha interjects.

“No. That’s Iron Man. Tony Stark is a man in his own right, I would know, I live with him. I’m going to be marrying him.”

A long, long silence. “Congratulations.” Natasha says eventually.

“Fuck you. Do I have your help or not?”

Natasha looks at Steve. Steve looks at Pepper.

“Obviously we made a mistake,” he says, carefully, wincing internally “that was, that was not our plan. I know what those suits are, Miss Potts. I know what they’re worth. What they mean. I, well, we wouldn’t do that on purpose. But,” he says, and he looks at Natasha from the corners of his eyes “I wouldn’t be able to let that rest on my conscience. So I’ll help. We’ll both help.”

Pepper stares, eyes tight. “And you mean that. You mean — ” for the first time, her facade crumbles. “It’s not working,” she says “nothing we do is working. Tony’s up to his neck in R&D but there’s no time to even get close to tackling that until he sorts out the new tower. We need to get that up now. It’s insurance, okay? We need it there so when the stock drops, when everyone finds out some lunatics got hold of the suit — or worse, when the arc plans are sold off, we lose our monopoly on it. But have you tried doing business with the Middle East right now? Getting plans ready to take Dubai off the grid, Dubai, it’s the world’s largest, there’s no way we can get that done in a year. Impossible.”

“You’ve started building,”

“We’re nearly finished. That’s not the hard part. The hard part is the talking, the meetings, we have lawyers to do it but this is supposed to be the high point of east meets west and we’re not — look,” Pepper finishes “look, we’re up to it in shit. And the only thing that you could possibly do to help is right what you’ve wronged, okay? That’s not, please. If not for Tony, then out of decency. You know there’s always been a floor for you at the tower.” She finishes grudgingly.

“We’ll do it.” Steve says. “Of course we’ll do it.”

Pepper looks at both of them, runs a hand over her forehead. “God,” she says quietly “what a month.”

Natasha stands stoically, but Steve can see she’s uncomfortable. He has a read on Nat that not many people have. He can see the slow ticking inside her head, the calm guilt she’s so readily hiding.

“So we can trust Stark to bankroll the Avengers, then.” Natasha says finally.

Potts sours. “Your team nearly had him killed last time.”

“To be fair that’s part of the job description.” Natasha says with a small smile.

Pepper doesn’t budge. “There’s no need. The team’s redundant.”

“Don’t say that,” Steve says “you know it’s not true.”

Pepper sips from her glass, then decides to down it in one. “Where were you when my house fell into the ocean.”

Steve and Natasha share a look. “We — we couldn’t make it.”

“No,” Pepper hums “you couldn’t, could you. You’re all for team spirit. Right up until, you know, you actually need to offer something in return.”

“You’re telling me that you think Steve Rogers isn’t a stand up guy?” Natasha says, crossing her arms.

Pepper considers. “No,” she says “I think he is. I think he’s hiding something from himself, and he should probably get his head out his ass, and I think you should stop pretending to be something you’re not. I’ve read your file. You know Tony never read your file? Didn’t want it to cloud his judgement. Well more fools him, if you ask me.”

“There’s obviously nothing I can say to redeem myself in your eyes.”

“Actions speak louder than words. Help me, help us. And then we’ll see about your team.”

 

“What was that?” Steve hisses, following Natasha out the door “Natasha, Natasha stop, don’t pretend you can’t hear me.”

She slides silently into their car, puts her hands on the wheel. “Get in.” She says, looking straight ahead.

Steve pauses. “No,” he says “tell me, or I’ll get a cab home.”

Natasha’s jaw rotates almost imperceptibly. She rolls her head. “Get in, and I’ll tell you, okay? How does that sound?”

Steve slams the door behind him, slumps into the seat. “It better be good.”

Natasha snorts, car purring into life. “Four years ago I was given Tony Stark as an assignment. He was, at the time, dying, not without lack of trying, if you ask me. But SHIELD knew something was up, so I went in, figured it out, and got him hooked up with some of his dad’s old research. It was enough to save his life.”

“You’ve told me this.”

“But,” Natasha says, and clearly it’s a big one “at the time Fury was compiling a file on the initiative. Wanted to see if it would work, who the main players could be. He had a few vested interests in keeping Stark alive. Thought he could be a heavy hitter.”

“He is.”

“Now. Back then… not so much. A lot of reasons. One, we were being picky. Pre Battle of New York, we were feeling pretty safe in the knowledge that no one was going to attack pretty soon. Aliens, Steve? Aliens? What the hell is that? We were choosy, okay?”

“You turned him down.”

“Eh. We kept him as a consultant,” Natasha switches lanes “point being, I had to compile a file. An official file, the one you read, and then another, for Fury’s eyes only.”

“Seems unorthodox.”

“Like I said, Fury has a vested interest in Stark. So I included some documents that I shouldn’t’ve. Things I picked up, things from the SI mainframe. A couple I just saw lying around when Tony fell asleep.”

“And you took them.”

“Yes I took them. It was my job. What did I owe Stark? As far as I was concerned those files weren’t going to fall into the wrong hands.”

“Natasha we are the wrong hands.”

“I know that now.” She snaps in frustration.

Steve exhales through his nostrils. “You know,” he says “if someone has got their hands on the suits, we’re screwed.”

“And we’ll need a team. I know that, you know that. Potts doesn’t want to know and Stark’s so wrapped up he won’t notice until too late.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Who knows.” She says “He’s temperamental. Can’t make up his mind. There’s a lot of stuff going on there I don’t want to think about.”

She swerves, suddenly, takes a sharp left. “Natasha,” Steve says quietly. “You don’t have to feel this guilty.”

She stares ahead stonily. “I don’t.”

“I thought you said you weren’t going to lie to me?”

She holds one hand to the wheel, leans against the door. “Call Sam,” she says eventually “we have work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so, for the first time, in 130,000 words, plot actually happens.


	63. Chapter 63

Tony rubs his eyes once, and then rubs them again.

His chest aches. Genuinely aches, in an empty, painful, I-had-open-heart-surgery kind of way.

He should take a painkiller. Ease him out of it. But he needs to get this done, and gets so damn fuzzy when he takes them, and he’s been on them so long that he can’t quite remember what it was like not to feel this way.

The pages are swimming in front of him, and he rubs his chest. Stares at the contract.

“… subject to the buyer being,” he yawns, shakes his head. “Fulfilled. So, this contract will be, on the, something about — ”

His elbow slips and his head falls to the desk with a thunk.

He maybe falls asleep, or maybe not, maybe he just zones out. Point being, he’s jarred by a hand on his shoulder.

He jerks. “Subtract to contract being fulfilled — ”

“Tony,” Pepper whispers “honey it’s me.”

Tony blinks dozily. “Hi sweetie.” He mumbles. “Just,” he sighs “just finishing up, here.”

Pepper stares down at him. “How long have you been up?”

Tony checks his watch, exhales. “Well,” he says “I haven’t slept in three days, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Pepper tsks in irritation. “Tony."

“I know, I’m a disaster.” He smiles deprecatingly. “I’m just, lets go to bed.”

Pepper’s heels click against the wood of the corridor. Their penthouse was renovated after the Hulk smashed —

Tony’s new penthouse is three floors, all open plan, wide windows and bright light. It’s as close to California as he could make it.

Still, it’s disconcerting. There’s no ocean and when he looks out his window he sees the same sight he saw when —

Tony slumps onto the bed, strips off his shirt and pants and just climbs in, drawing the covers over his knees. He rubs his face again, tries to stop his eyes from itching.

“You should shower.” Pepper says.

“Great.” Tony replies.

He watches her take off her earrings, her necklace. Slide her dress down and dumps it in a pile. Fold herself into a baby blue robe and tie her hair into a bun.

“I ran into your friends tonight.”

Tony blinks. “What?”

“The Captain. Romanoff. They were checking up on us.”

Tony frowns, and Pepper draws her hands over his bare shoulders. “Why?” He yawns.

“Extremis, I think.”

“What did you tell them?”

She smiles. “That it was gone, and I was safe.”

Tony smiles back at her over his shoulder. “That’s my girl.” He says sleepily.

Pepper traces her fingers down his lean back, sighs. “I’m going away, next week.”

Tony frowns. “Again?” He whines.

“My sister’s getting married.”

“Which one?”

“Carolina.”

“Remind me again, what’s the other one called?”

“…Mary.”

Tony snorts. “God what were your parents thinking.”

She tugs lightly at the hair on the back of his head. He shivers, slightly. “I suppose I can’t ask you to come with me?” Pepper asks.

“Honey — ”

“You gonna sleep tonight, or are you going to run away as soon as I shut off?”

Tony doesn’t look at her, although she hears the small smile. “Maybe,” he looks down “I don’t think tonight’s gonna be a great night for sleep.”

“Oh, Tony.” Pepper says softly, in that voice she gets when he’s being particularly pathetic. God, he must look like a mess.

“Yeah,” he says, and he sucks in a breath. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“You know I can always wake you up. Jarvis can always wake you up.”

“I’d rather it not happen at all, really.”

Pepper drapes herself against his back, locks her arms round his neck. “Are you taking those pills?”

Tony draws away. “Pepper — ”

She sits back on the bed. “You’re not, are you.” 

“You don’t understand,” he says, waving her away “they make me — ”

“Tony,” Pepper says, rubbing her eyes “Tony please. You can’t go on like this.”

“I’m fine.”

“Well you’re not, first of all,” Pepper says, lips tight “and second I’m starting to think you don’t even want to get better.”

Tony blinks. “Get _better?_ What, you, you think I want this?”

“No,” Pepper says, standing “I think you need to be proactive. I say talk to someone, you talk to the guy with more issues than you. I say get therapy, you say no. I get you pills, you don’t take them. Tony, I’m not _saying,_ I’m not expecting you to get better over night. But if you want to, you need to help yourself. You need to _try."_

“You don’t understand,” Tony says again, brusquely “you have no idea what it’s like.”

“Tony _please,”_ she says “I have nightmares too! Okay? But I control it, and I work through it, and I _talk_ — ”

“Don’t rub that in,” Tony says, nostrils flaring “fuck, don’t remind me — ”

“Oh God! I’m sorry! God, no, I should ever deign to remind you that the world does not fall solely on your shoulders and that yes, in fact, the people around you have just a many problems as you do — ”

“Oh I’m just selfish,” Tony spits bitterly “I’m just being selfish, you’re right, I didn’t listen to you _at all_ when you told me — ”

“ — just as many problems as you do and _get help!_ You can’t sit there and complain, Tony, if you don’t do something about it. If you’re not _pro-active,_ if you don’t _try —_ ”

“I do try! Do you know what it’s like? I’m up at five, down at three, work, work, work, sometimes I have to go kill people, I have the feds on my ass, Pepper, do you have, do you have any, any _idea —_ ”

“Do I have any idea? Tony, I’m a CEO! Of course I have an _idea._ But you need to sort yourself out, and fine, you know what, stop being selfish, Tony, stop being, it’s this, you have this utter self-absorption that I just can’t understand — ”

“Oh go on, say what you really think,” and his face contorts in anger, fuck he hates it when he gets like this “go on, go on, as if you didn’t fucking know what you were getting into, Pepper, don’t act as if this is some new thing, that you never knew me, didn’t, d-didn’t know, didn’t know, didn’t — ”

“Tony,” she says softly “calm down.”

“I am calm,” he snaps, but the sweat is prickling the back of his neck “fuck I can’t do this. This was okay. Why did you have to, why did you have to mention it? Why would you, why would do that, why — ”

“Tony — ”

Tony smacks her hands away. “Don’t.” He says. “Don’t. Fuck I’ll just, I’ll sleep in another room. Or not sleep. I’ll not sleep in another room, so we — ”

“You’re scared.” Pepper says, looking him square in the face. “Aren’t you? You don’t want to talk about what’s happening here, between us, so you’re going to run away.”

Tony stills. “What’s happening between us?”

Pepper twists the ring on her finger. “Nothing.” She says, and then she sighs. “God, Tony, nothing. Just,” she rubs her forehead. “I’m gonna sleep. Get some if you can.”

Tony watches climb back into bed. “Pepper — ”

“What, Tony? What. What could it possibly be. Are you gonna get help? Is that it? Are you gonna let us help you?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Sure,” Pepper says “turn off the light on your way out.”

 

Tony falls asleep, eventually, in the early hours of the morning. He tosses and turns, whimpers, moans, fingers clenching on his sheets, hugging the pillow to his chest. 

He’s awoken by Pepper’s hand on his arm.

He jolts, body twisting on the sheets, sitting up, reacting to the threat.

He blinks at her, trying to comprehend what he’s seeing.

Pepper waits.

He swallows.

“Morning.” Tony says, voice like gravel.

“What time did you go to sleep?”

Tony blinks slowly. “It was getting light out.”

Pepper sighs. “It’s nearly eight. I’m going into the office today.”

“Okay,” Tony mumbles, falling back onto the sheets. 

“Are you,” she looks down at him “will you be spending it in bed?”

“I’ll,” his eyes start to close “when I wake up, I’ll finish.”

Pepper strokes his hair. “It’s okay.” She says thoughtfully.

“I’m sorry ‘bout last night.”

“Don’t worry.”

“I wish.”

Pepper smiles. “Maybe you should go out. Have you called Rhodey? You should go out with Rhodey. You haven’t gone anywhere in so — ”

“He’s got a new girlfriend.”

“Another one?”

Tony shrugs, tastes the morning breath in his mouth, vaguely alcoholic. “I can’t remember her name. He thinks she’s the one. That is, the third one this year.”

Pepper gives his head a last stroke. “Okay,” she says “okay I’m going.”

“Bye.” Tony yawns, curling back round over the blankets. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

After that, Tony darkens the windows, turns out the lights. Falls down into his first deep sleep in weeks.

He dreams of a tapping at his window, persistent and comforting in it’s routine.

He’s awoken again, later, when Pepper brings him a pizza. That night, they sleep in the same bed, and pretend the night before never happened.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just started writing the bit where it all goes downhill and when i say downhill i mean wow it's a spectacularly sharp drop off into a hellish stratosphere


	64. Chapter 64

Steve ducks the magazine over his head, tries to switch off.

It’s the persistent tapping of computer keys that’s getting him. Tap, tap, tap. Steve thinks it may be the most irritating noise on earth.

“Sam,” he grunts “can you just, not.”

“Go sleep somewhere else, then,” Sam says, not looking round “you have your own apartment.”

“Natasha kicked me out.”

“Then you should probably buy your own place, shouldn’t you?”

“Why would I do that when I have such welcoming friends?”

Sam slams the enter key, spins round. “You know what I think’s wrong with you?”

“Enlighten me.”

“You never got to have your college phase. I think, and hear me out on this, I think you’re going through your college phase.”

“Meaning?”

“You get up at lunch, eat dinner from a can, live nocturnally. You only go out to see your friends, and that’s rare as it is. You’re rooming with a woman which I’m told is completely platonic, but I’m not sure, and some days you don’t get out of bed at all. Wait,” Sam pauses, puts his finger to his head “wait, no, I’m sorry, you’re actually exhibiting signs of depression, oh, my bad.”

“I’m in a funk.”

“Then get out of it.”

Steve sighs. “Sam — ”

“Steve, c’mon. I get it. Work is… not great. SHIELD’s gone. That’s a bummer for you. First home, and all. But when I say this, and I do mean this in the best way possible, truly, I mean this as one of your closest friends, get your head out your ass.”

“My head’s not — ”

“Natasha said you were offered a job.”

“Natasha told you that? Is Natasha, is she talking to everyone but me?”

“She also said she didn’t like your insinuations.”

Steve stalks to the fridge. “Yeah well she fucked up.”

“But this is Stark we’re talking about, right?”

“The one and only.”

Sam pauses. “So?” He says. “You’re gonna take it?”

Steve cracks open a beer. “I have a feeling I may have single handedly ruined his life.”

“Stark’s a big boy, he’ll figure it out.”

“Potts asked me to track down some intel.”

“And you will do it?”

“It’s not like I have anything else to do. And I mean,” Steve makes a face “if those suits, if someone manages to re-create those suits, Stark’s not the only one who’s gonna be screwed. I don’t want to think about the damage, the — ” Steve shudders.

Sam nods. “Okay. Okay, so you’re gonna work for Stark.”

Steve pauses. “No,” he says “I’m doing him a favour.”

“Really? Because Natasha passed this down to me today.”

Steve frowns, stares at the letter in Sam’s hand. “What — ”

“Open it.”

It’s a bill. More specifically, a pay check. For — 

Steve swallows. “Is that much money legal?”

“You know, Stark was covering our search.”

“I know that.”

“I think he’s trying to send you a message.”

Steve rips it up. “I don’t need this money.”

Sam blinks. “Man why would you do that.”

“I have money. I don’t need this money. I’m doing this because that tech has the potential to make the atomic bomb look like a bee sting, that’s why I’m doing this.”

Sam exhales. “Sure. Okay. Well, if you’re so mad keen on doing him a favour, why don’t you move into that flashy apartment Fury got him on.”

Steve makes a face. “I really don't want a guy like Stark knowing my every move.”

“Steve,” Sam says, face serious “you need to do something. Get out. Get a proper apartment. Stop living with Natasha. Steve,” Sam sighs, looks down. “Man, it’s been awhile. We haven’t found him, okay? I’m starting to think that maybe you’re thinking of every excuse you can to keep looking.”

“That’s,” Steve shakes his head, splutters. “No. That’s not, Sam, c’mon. You know, I’m, me and, we’re not. It’s not like, I’ll find him. I’ll find him. He can’t hide forever.”

“Steve,” Sam says “we both know he can.”

“I need to find him.”

“Because he’s the only thing you have left?”

“Because he’s my best friend.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “From the 1940’s. He’s the only thing you have left of that time. But guess what? You have new things, too. From this time.”

“You’re telling me to forget him.”

“No. I’m telling you to take the job. Talk to Stark. I want you to get your team back together, so when something inevitably comes to try and take us down we’re not standing with our cocks out. Be proactive.”

“You want me to leave.”

“No. I want you to start having a life. A real life. You’re not Captain, anymore. You can do what you want. Talk to Sharon. Go on a date. Do something. Steve there’s literally nothing holding you back. You are a young, fit, white man with $2,000,000 stashed away and regular pay checks coming in. Get out!”

Steve sets his hands on his hip. Exhales. “Right.” He says. “Right. You are. You’re probably right.”

“Thank you.”

“So I should. Talk to Stark, maybe.”

“Sure.”

“I don’t think his girlfriend likes me very much.”

“To be fair, you did watch him fly through an inter-space wormhole and then not run to the rescue when his house fell into the ocean.”

“I was undercover!”

“She doesn’t know that. But it’s fine. He’s only marrying her.”

Steve snorts. “Okay, okay. Right. Okay. I am going to look up some apartments on craigslist.”

“You could probably go a bit fancier now, man. Why not move out of state?”

Steve sighs. “New York is home. It’s — ”

“Your old home, actually. New Steve gets to choose where he wants to go.”

“If I’m gonna do this then it’s better to be central.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“I should talk to Nat.”

“Yeah, you might wanna get back into her good books. You also might wanna throw in the good word for me.”

“Hmm,” Steve says “no. But I will talk to her.”

 

“So just so I get this straight,” she says “you no longer want to find Bucky.”

“… No. I’m just, delaying it.”

“To help Stark?”

“To be fair, we did single-handedly — ”

“I get that.” She snaps. “Fine. You move out, then.”

“I will.”

“And I expect you’ll still want me to help you find this intel?”

“Nat.”

“Moving out doesn’t seem very convenient.”

“Right. Which is why I was thinking we could move into the tower.”

Natasha stills, sticks her fork into her meat. “What.”

“The tower. Stark tow — well, Avenger’s tower, now.”

“That’s insane.”

“We have a mission.”

Natasha dumps her plate in the sink. “Sure.”

“What is wrong with you? What do you have against him?”

“Stark? Nothing.”

Steve crosses her arms, looks at her. “You feel guilty.”

“No.”

Steve steps closer. “Nat,” he says, voice soft. “Come on.”

She stares at him. Her eyelashes flutter. “Steve.”

He looks at her. She’s guilty, sure. He can understand. Being indebted to a man like Stark would make him snappy, too.

“Just,” he breathes. “C’mon.”

She glares at him eyes softening. “Steve,” she whispers.

“Yes?”

“Go to hell.”

And that’s that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk i don't have anything to say just enjoy i guess


	65. Chapter 65

“No,” Tony mumbles “no.”

He’s sleeping, it’s just that he doesn’t know that. The main floor is empty, as it usually is, and the lights of New York sings outside his window.

Tony kicks out, foot hitting the back of the couch. “No,” he says again, breathes again. “No, no, d’nt — ”

The lights begin to switch off, as they’re supposed to when Jarvis goes more than two hours without hearing Tony’s voice. Tony twists.

“Ty,” he mumbles, and then giggles. “Ty stop.”

He curls against a pillow, eyes flickering beneath their lids. 

He doesn’t hear the alert.

So he misses the elevator to the darkened room opening.

The footsteps. The small snort. The thump of something heavy.

Threatening.

But Tony hasn’t slept in so long. More than that, he hasn’t had a good sleep in so long. So the lights stay off, Jarvis silent, and the man grins.

He moves slowly, silently, in every way he was trained to be. He knows the plan. He knows his way around. He knows, upstairs, is Stark’s personal penthouse. He knows that Pepper Potts is in Vermont for a wedding. 

So he moves silently, to find what he needs.

 

Tony snorts himself awake. 

He blinks in the darkness, runs a bleary hand over his face. Swings his legs over the couch.

He has work to do. He has, he needs to run over the specs for the touch free shower they’re going to be installing in the new tower, because, no matter how old Tony gets, his R&D team are still worth shit.

He should shower. It’s still dark out, probably barely the early hours of the morning.

He hears the crash.

Tony freezes.

“Jar — ” he starts, only to realise that this intruder is going to hear him. Jarvis should know to —

Unless he’s disabled. Unless he’s disabled Jarvis.

Tony feels his heart in his throat.

His fingers shake, but he stands all the same. Slides across the floor, uses the wall to support himself.

What’s he doing? Going up to some terrorist armed with nothing? Fuck, he wishes he had a suit. Fuck, why did he get rid of the suits.

Pepper. Pepper. Pepper is —

At her sisters. Oh God, oh thank God. Okay. Okay. Okay.

He steels his nerves.

The kitchen light spills out into the corridor as he creeps closer. Flattens his back against the wall.

Holds his breath.

Looks.

There’s a man, bent over his cabinet. He sees the knife next to his hand.

There’s no response. He’s short, maybe. Sandy hair, brown. He’s wearing a dark black anorak, and his hair is wet from the rain.

Tony carefully, quietly, slides open a drawer, takes the first implement he can. A rolling pin, as it happens, and Tony briefly, ridiculously, wonders why Pepper thought that would be a cool thing to have because they never bake, no one in this house bakes, why would they —

He raises it over his shoulder. Braces to bring it down on the intruder’s head. 

He’s so close.

And then the man spins, eyes wide, headphones in ears, mouth open in shock.

Tony screams.

Clint Barton screams.

They stand there, screaming, for a good ten seconds, until Barton punches the rolling pin from Tony’s hands.

“What are you doing!” Tony spits.

“I WAS MAKING A SANDWICH!”

Tony stares at the innocent peanut butter and jelly sandwich sitting on the counter.

“You broke into my house to make a sandwich?!”

“Break in? I used my fucking card!”

"What card!" Tony's heart is beating a mile a minute, and the kneads his chest with his fist. "Jesus," he mutters, slumping against the island "holy shit, why, why, what -- "

"Easy old man," Clint says, grouchy. 

"What are you doing in my kitchen?"

"Well, I was thinking that I needed a place to live, and then I was thinking that I was pretty damn hungry. Hence, the sandwich."

"You crazy fuck, you couldn't call ahead?"

"I tried, no answer. You might wanna work on your machine, it wouldn't let me leave a message."

He flashes a grin, smacks Tony on the shoulder, carries his sandwich to the island and takes a seat. "So," he says, looking dubiously at the soggy bread "how's it with you, hermano?"

Tony blinks. "Fine?"

"Hey that's good," Clint wipes his mouth with a napkin. "That's great. You know where I've been?"

Tony just stares, wide eyed. 

Clint flashes a shark like grin. "Well, my petit friend, I was in Afghanistan. And then, Iran. After that, Iraq. Lebanon. Syria. Do you know where's not a great place to visit right now? The whole fucking Middle East. Why were you there, you might ask. Well," Clint takes a vicious bite of his sandwich "I was told," he says, voice muffled "that I had to check out some dodgy hatch job terrorist -- more on that later, because you'll love it, right up your alley -- so I was under deep cover. We didn't get much news, over there, sorry about your house falling into the ocean, it must of been a bummer. So -- "

"Slow down." Tony interjects. "Swallow."

Clint forces the food down his throat. "Right," he says "where was I? So, I'm in Afghanistan, and I've been there a few months. I hit the jackpot, and I get the go ahead to pull some strings -- long story short, I'm there about a year. I've fit right in, and I have hit the motherload on these guys. That last month I was number one's number two if you know what I mean. And then, what would happen, but I get rumbled. Who would've thought. Some guy uses his brains and recognises me from a photo, which has never happened before, so, you know. And then I'm hanging from the rafters, being beat on, so I click my receiver, 'immediate extraction.'"

Clint pauses for dramatic effect. "And guess what? I click it again. And again. And again. And I keep clicking it, for about two weeks, when I realise, you know what? There is no immediate extraction."

Tony makes a face. "Yeah," he says "about that."

"So I realise I'm on my own and I think 'what would Tony Stark do'. And having a lack of weapons in the local vicinity, I laced their alcohol with my piss the next time they let me go toilet, which was, look, yes they were storing the alcohol in the same place as the bucket we shit in, I wasn't saying it was five star."

"And?"

"Nothing, I just felt like it. But a few days after, one of them left his gun too close to my foot and I broke my wrist busting out and the next thing you know I'm hitching a ride all the way Iraq. So I left those fuckfaces with their piss-beer and hopped on a truck next to a goat."

"Fun."

"I get to Baghdad and the whole place is on fucking lockdown. But I catch some news and find out that SHIELD is fucked and the entire government has been diddling themselves while it happened, so I manage to get to the embassy. Tony, I shit you not, they took one look at me and threw me in jail. They accused me of being HYDRA! Of course, the upside of this is that I had my one phone call. Had to choose wisely. So instead of calling you like a well-balanced, rational human being, I called Natasha, which is basically a pavlovian response. But Natasha," he spits "has changed her fucking hotline! Because apparently it was released with the rest of the wank bank they shoved online! So now I'm stranded, and let me tell you, US run Iraqi prisons are far harder to get out of then Mr Limpdick and the Fucknuts that had me with before."

Clint sucks in a deep breath and downs some water, holding up his hand to tell Tony to wait. He wipes his mouth, and continues.

"So this is where it gets dodgy. Dodgier. Because I've run out of options, and obviously no one knows I'm here. So, I hope you don't mind, Tony, because being honest right now I don't actually know you all that well, I told my guard you'd get $1,000,000 if he'd smuggle me out. But the thing is, it takes more than one guard, so you might, actually, owe about, ballpark figure, $16,000,000 to some Iraqi guards."

Tony exhales slowly.

"So I'm out, and I make my way through to Tripoli. It's rough, but I get a lift. After that, I'm trekking through Syria, hitching rides and bribing people with money that isn't mine, until I reach the Turkish border. And this is the hardest part, because they're not keen on people coming through right now. But once they heard my accent and saw that I was white, it was pretty easy to convince them."

"And after that?"

"I met a lovely ex-pat who called me a national treasure and paid for my flight back. Honestly, he's a really lovely guy. You don't meet many of those nowadays."

"I thought you didn't have a passport?"

"Yeah, I mean he wasn't strictly legal. But who is, really? He rustled me up some fakes."

Tony nods slowly. "Well," he says "that sounds... interesting."

"I touched down at JFK two hours ago. I've been travelling for six months. And I'm just in time for Thanksgiving." Clint frowns. "You seem a bit tense."

"Sorry. I thought I was being invaded. I just missed most of what you said, by the way. I'm sure Jarvis will fill me in."

"Hey it's okay. Thanks for noticing I was missing and coming to find me."

"Clint, I really don't know you very well."

"That's true."

"I mean, we've met, like, once before?"

"It's a bit weird, really." Clint agrees.

Tony nods. "Yeah. So," he pauses "I'm gonna go."

"Right."

"And you can ask Jarvis where your room is. We have a bunch of spare floors, Fury said -- yeah. Well." Tony shakes his head, dazed. "Maybe I'll wake up and this will have been a dream."

"You live in hope."

Tony blinks, eyebrows raised. "I have work to do. I have so much work to do."

Outside, the sun is beginning to rise.


	66. Chapter 66

"And what, he just sat down?"

"I don't know, I really wasn't paying attention. He broke my rolling pin."

Pepper sighs down the line. "Well, it had to happen eventually."

"Not really, we never used it."

"No, the team. The Avengers. It was going to happen eventually, they are all going to barge in. God, I just hoped I could kind've put it off."

"Pepper it's a tower. This isn't a frat house."

"That's what you think. Tony, I know about Clint Barton. And worse, I know you. Bruce, Bruce I could deal with, but Barton -- "

"You'd rather have the man who turns into a monster when he's mad then a guy who managed to navigate his way home from Afghanistan?"

"Tony, you managed to do that, it's really not an great exhibit of common sense."

Tony allows himself a small laugh. "Relax, Pep, you'll barely see him. Besides, there's only two of us. What's the worst that can happen?"

 

"Keep," Tony blinks, slurs "keep still."

Clint lists dramatically to the side. Giggles.

"You need to open it," Tony says, gesticulating "open it!"

Clint holds up his hands as if waiting to be shot. "I am!"

"Your mouth!" Tony says, slapping a hand to Clint's lips. "It doesn't work otherwise."

Clint opens his jaw. "'Ooo 'eddy?"

Tony squints in concentration, Clint's figure doubling in front of him. "Shh," he says, trying to keep it still "stop moving."

Clint giggles again, and a bottle slips out from behind his back, rolls onto the ground, his mouth still wide open.

Tony aims the grape, throws. It sails past Clint's head.

Tony whines.

"Close," Clint says. "That was, that was really close."

Tony hums, and goes for another grape.

"Tony?"

He blinks, twists, looks at where the elevator doors have opened to reveal his soon-to-be wife. "Pepper!" He slurs. "How was Carolina?"

"It was in Vermont."

"Your sister?"

"Was ditched at the altar."

Tony giggles.

Pepper's staring at him, but he's too drunk to notice. He throws a grape at her head. "Grape." He says.

"Grape." Clint parrots.

Pepper's eyes slowly slide to the archer, and then back to Tony.

She stiffens.

"I'm going to bed."

Pepper turns, straight back to the elevator, and lets the doors slam shut. She's probably going back to their floor, which is okay. It's better than Tony could've expected, because now he and Clint can do whatever till whenever.

 

Except Tony wakes up like he hasn't for a long time.

Hungover.

He blinks, the light streaming through the windows too bright to process. Groans.

"Fuck," he mutters, tasting the bitter alcohol in his mouth "oh, shit."

He sits up, and at least six bottle slide off with him. It takes physical effort to peel himself from the couch. 

He's too old for this. Fuck, what was he thinking.

He smells breakfast coming from the kitchen, and prays it's Pepper. Literally prays.

It's not of course. Tony blinks, catches a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the fridge. Old button down, stained, boxer-briefs, hair greasy, tangled, needing a shave. Eyes blood shot, cheeks flushed, overall rumpled.

He looks back to the cooker, and blinks again.

"Hello." He starts.

"Hi." Steve Rogers answers.

"You're," Tony swallows "in my tower. You're in my tower. Why is everyone in my tower?"

"Sit."

Tony blinks, stares at the food in front of him, sliding into a seat. "This is breakfast."

"It is."

"Why are you in my tower?"

Steve sighs and digs a fork into his eggs. "Because," he says, sitting. "I need somewhere to live."

"Right," Tony says slowly. "Okay."

It's been a very, very strange week. And Tony thinks he's still a bit pissed.

"You fucked me over." Tony blurts, letting his fork hit the table. "Did you know that?"

"Yeah," Steve says, bracing his hands on his knees. "I know that now. Sorry."

Tony sighs loudly, and oh shit, he's definitely still drunk. "It's okay." He yawns.

"I don't think it is, really."

"Have you seen Clint?" Tony interrupts. "Fuck me, he was, did he tell you were he was? All over the fucking place."

"Yes, I saw him."

Tony rubs his temples. "God," he mutters "my head is fucking destroying me."

"Fun night?"

"I... don't know. I can't remember."

"Ah."

"Ah?" Tony repeats. "Ahh? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Ah, ahh, ahh."

Steve looks maybe like he's trying not to smile and also a little bit nervous. "Your -- Miss Potts."

"My Miss Potts."

"She came looking for you, this morning. I'm not sure what you said to her, but -- "

"Oh, fuck me."

"Yeah. You might want to look into that."

Tony shovels some eggs into his mouth. "Are you going to find the people that are trying to steal my suits for me?"

Steve raises an eyebrow. "You don't wait around, do you?"

"Excuse me, I'm super fucking drunk."

"Yes, actually. I am. We both are, Natasha and I."

"So you're taking time out from your little... expedition."

"How did you know about that?"

Tony shrugs. "I think I might be keeping tabs. Mostly I just kinda... find out."

"Fury's dead."

"And I'm the Queen of Sheba, bullshit Fury's dead."

"So you know that too?"

"He met with me a couple of weeks ago."

Steve blinks. "What?"

"Yeah," Tony sighs "about," he waves a hand "stuff. SHIELD Stuff. You, mostly. The Avenger's. Shh. Don't tell Pepper."

Steve nods, understanding. "So he wants you to finance the team?"

"I assume that's why he made me spend money on rooms to house you."

"Yeah well," Steve leans back "he had a plan for everything."

"What about you, Rogers. What are you doing?"

Steve sucks his teeth. "Well," he says "now, I'm about to get looking for your intel. But before? Mostly nothing. After SHIELD went down -- I was looking for Bucky. But you know that. You were financing it."

"I was, wasn't I?" Tony says, picking something out of his teeth. "Funny that. How's it going?"

"He is not a man that wants to be found."

"No, I can't imagine he is. But it's fascinating. It's so -- I don't know. It's strange. The world we're living in is strange."

"You can talk. You grew up in it."

Tony considers. "That's true. But it didn't prepare me for men breathing fire and space whales."

"Space whales." Steve repeats, thoughtfully. "Yeah, that was," he exhales "that was a shock to the system."

Tony swallows. Tries not to think about --

"I mean," he blurts "not like, it's not, it happened, so. What happened happened and we should all just move on. It's been two years."

"Yeah," Steve agrees quickly. "Definitely. So how have you been anyway."

Tony puts his fork down delicately. "Oh you know."

"You got engaged."

"I did."

"Congratulations."

"Yeah," Tony says. "Yeah. It's great. Honestly."

Steve nods. "Uh," he scratches the back of his head "sorry about your house. In California. That was, that must be hard."

"Oh," Tony says "Oh, well. I lost everything, you know. All my tools, all my equipment. All my clothes, her clothes. My pictures, my... records. About a billion dollars worth in suits. It was my home, obviously, so," Tony sighs loudly "yeah. I'm back here."

"I'm surprised you even moved back. I thought this was supposed to be your new base?"

"It was." Tony agrees. "Yeah. Yeah it was, and then, well, New York happened. It was harder to -- oh come on, you know what I'm talking about."

"Right," Steve says "I understand."

Tony smiles, laughs a little. "And now I'm back." He says tightly. "Back right where I started. How's Natasha?" He asks, veering directly off topic.

"She's..." Steve thinks "you know. She's just, her. I think she's sorry she took your plans."

"Don't worry. I'm used to it."

"You're very easy going over this."

"I'm actually an easy-going person. I mean, no that's not true. I'm furious. I am stone dead furious. I actually want to kill her," Tony admits easily "I literally haven't been this angry since my dad kicked out the butler. I am," Tony inhales sharply through his nose "wow." He laughs, shakily. "Probably best not to think about it, actually."

"Ah," Steve says, mildly alarmed. "okay. So maybe I should tell her to wait a bit before moving in."

Moving in? "She's moving in?"

"I'm moving in."

Tony's eyes flick upwards, to the door. Settle on Natasha.

"How much of that did you hear?"

"Most."

"Good. Then stay out of my way." Tony stands, abruptly, aware that, yes, he is in his underwear. "Thank you for the breakfast," he says to Steve.

He pads to the door, eyes fixed on Natasha's form. She's leaning, stoic, lax, not a care in the world. It's so irritating Tony wants to scream. 

But she lets him pass. Tony feels her eyes on his back all the down the corridor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *flower petals fall down the heavens* *cherubim sing* *a golden staircase* *an angel takes your hand* 'stebe is living with tony' they whisper *floats away on cloud made of unicorn farts*
> 
> fuck well it's all downhill from here, really. A couple of happy moments, in between, because I'm not a fucking sadist. But yeah. Poor Tony.


	67. Chapter 67

Steve watches Tony Stark walk away.

So. How's that for a first impression.

Natasha stalks closer, slides into the seat he had just occupied. "What." She says sullenly, taking Steve's eggs.

"You came."

"It's not like I have much choice. If we want this to work then I need to be close by."

"You'll help us, then. Find the intel."

"Obviously."

Steve smiles.

"What?" She snaps.

"Nothing," he says, smiling and leaning back. "Nothing. You enjoy those eggs."

"They taste like shit."

"Thank you, Natasha."

Steve registers the sound of a door sliding open, and then Clint is walking through. "Cap," he says, off-hand. He moves into the seat next to Natasha, takes her head and plants a kiss on her cheek, squishing her tight. "My darling love."

Natasha tolerates it for two more seconds, then pushes him away. "Asshole."

"My lover, my sweet. The only woman for me. How have you been, mon petite chou."

"Fine," Natasha says grudgingly, but Steve sees her soften. It's so strange, because nothing Steve says will ever get her like that, let alone sitting on top of her and calling her a cabbage. "You need a shave."

Clint runs a hand over his chin. "That," he says "is correct. Incredibly so." He checks his watch, which Steve notices is stopped. "Meet you at mine in," he thinks "twenty?"

Steve watches the exchange. Natasha swallows her eggs.

"Thirty. Let me finish up here."

Clint bounds off, slapping Steve on the back. He stares at Natasha, eyebrows raised.

"He's been away for a while," she explains, stirring the now cold eggs "we should catch up."

"Are you -- "

"No."

"Because it sounds a lot like -- "

"We're not together. In this line of work, you don't get together. Ever. I've never slept with him. No, I've never slept with him in the intimate sense. Purely platonic."

"Right." Steve says slowly.

"What? You don't believe that can work?"

"I know it can. I just don't think you're purely platonic."

Natasha's tongue probes her teeth. She stares at him.

"Okay," she says, swinging her leg over the seat, standing. "Sure. You keep that in your mind. I have to go explain to Pepper Potts why I'm living in her house, and then I'm going to talk to Clint Barton and maybe give him a completely platonic haircut. You have fun up here. Settle in. Go for a jog."

Steve smirks. "I will."

"Sure," Natasha says easily, dumping her plate in the sink. "See you, Steve."

 

Tony's brain runs a mile a minute.

He scribbles, his pen flying across the paper. This is it. He's found it. This is the answer, this time, he knows, he knows he's found the answer. 

It's a pet project, of his. Right now, because he can't, his suits --

He should be working on his actual work. But when he gets like this, it's better to give into the urge, or he'll end up staring at his desk for six hours unable to think, just, the numbers and the sounds racing past so, whatever, excuse him if he indulges himself once in awhile.

Once, indulging himself would've meant a bottle of $20,000 wine and two blondes. Now, it's scribbling equations down onto a piece of paper.

Fuck, he's getting senile.

What he's actually doing is -- don't laugh, because he's not crazy -- trying to figure it all out.

All of it. The whole of it. Every single part of it. The universe, in all it's infinite glory.

Which is incredibly time consuming, actually. But it keeps him busy, and it stops the --

"Tony?"

He jerks, sliding his papers across the desk, half of them spilling to the floor, the others scrunching haphazardly on the table. "Uh," he says, panicked. "Coming! Coming, just, stay there, don't -- "

"Tony?" Pepper says again, stepping over crowbar to get to his office. "What -- " She blinks. "What the hell is this?"

"A project." Tony says, even though he can feel the tips of his ears going red. "It's just, it's a thing."

Pepper stalls. "Is this -- Tony, is this for another suit?"

She doesn't sound angry. She stares at the pages pasted on the walls of the small box in he keeps in the corner of his workshop as an unofficial office. 

If Tony had half a brain, he would lie. Say 'yes.' And then Pepper would sigh, and they'd probably go upstairs and fuck until she was certain she'd successfully convinced him out of another one.

"No." He says. "It's for something else."

Pepper stares at him. She's angry, he realises, but it's been pushed away slightly by curiosity. "What?"

Tony swallows. "It's just, I'm trying to figure some stuff out."

"Like?"

"Oh, you know. The universe."

Pepper looks at him for a long time. "Run that by me again."

"I am, I'm trying t-to," he coughs, scratches his head. "The universe, okay? I'm just, I'm trying to figure it out. Map it. The size, the movement, it's expanding, but how is that possible. Can you wrap your head around it? I mean, I'm not a, a astronaut, but I'm good enough. Good-ish. This stuff is, Pep, the larger it gets, the more insignificant we become, did you know that? We're not stretching, but the universe it. Imagine everything that's out there, Pep, everything we've never seen. Whole new worlds, new -- the Chitauri, Loki, they were just the start. There's more out there, I know it."

"Tony -- "

"It's infinite. How can something be infinite, Pep? We're just, we're just bacteria. Compared to the universe, we're like," Tony frowns, rubs at his head "I want to say we're a grain of sand but we're not. How do you compare something infinite to anything? There's not exactly a ratio, 1:∞, how does that work?"

"Tony."

"You're not listening," he snaps "look," he spins the sheet on the desk "how can, how is this possible? How is any of this possible, it's driving me crazy. Doesn't it drive you crazy? Where do we come from? How can any of this be real? God, we're nothing. Nothing. How does this work? Why does it matter? Why do we matter? I'm here, one piece of bacteria, talking to another bacteria, about survival. Why does, do you think -- "

She slaps him.

Tony stumbles back, his tailbone pressing into the desk.

He blinks.

Touches a hand to the place where her skin met his cheek.

"Tony," she says again, this time softer, moving forward.

"You hit me." He says numbly. "What did I do?"

Her hands on his shoulders. "Tony, listen to me. Are you listening to me? You need to keep it together. This needs to stop."

"Why did you hit me?"

Pepper sucks in a breath, she sounds on the edge of tears. "Tony," she says, shaking him slightly "listen to me. Are you with me?"

His hand finds hers where it's clasps his shoulder. "I asked you what you thought."

"I'm not," she ducks her head, they're brows touch. "Tony," she says quietly "I'm not talking about, about the fucking universe. I don't care about that, I care about you."

"Then why -- "

"You were drunk, last night."

"I was with -- "

"Clint. Yeah. I know. Tony, I don't mind housing that team, okay? I don't mind. They can do what they like. But you," she twists her fingers into Tony's shirt "you are, you are not Iron Man anymore, and I'm, I, I can't lose you, I can't, Tony, you don't understand -- "

She cries into his neck.

"I understand." Tony says blindly.

"Do you?" She says, her breath hitching. "Tony, I feel like, we're talking about the same thing in different languages. And, I don't think you do understand, Tony. I don't think -- "

"I do understand, of course I understand. I, there's nothing worse, I couldn't lose you -- "

"Then you see, right? You see why I feel the same."

"Sure." Tony nods. "Of course Pep, of course."

"Do you know what it's like, to see you like this?"

Tony blinks, pulls back. "See me like what?"

Pepper stares at him. "Tony -- "

"See me like what?"

She rubs a hand over her eyes. "This, Tony." She picks up a paper, rips it in half "this."

Tony blinks. Slaps down her hand. "What do you think you're doing?!" He says, and he doesn't hear the panic in his voice. "Why the fuck would you," he falls to his knees, tries to stick the paper back together. "Why -- do you know how long this takes? Do you have any idea? This was, why would you -- "

Pepper is on her knees next to him. "Tony this isn't a joke," she says, pressing close "Tony please, listen to me, we're not alone anymore. You can't do things like this, or one of them will tell, and the next thing you know -- "

"I don't understand." Tony says. "What are you talking about?"

Pepper stares at him, uncomprehending. "Do you not see, Tony? Don't you see yourself? Are you honestly -- Tony this is, this is crazy. This is manic."

"I'm just," he looks at her. "Happy."

She shakes her head. "Tony please. Please see someone. Please. Get help. Look at me, Tony, I'm begging you. I'm actually begging you. Stop this, get help."

Tony stands, draws her up with him. "Stop it," he hisses "don't do that."

It makes him uncomfortable.

"I'm going to call someone. Tony, it's discreet. Please, Tony. Please. I'm going, we're getting married, hmm?" Her voice goes soft, she presses closer. When she touches his cheek, he leans into the caress.

"We're getting married," she repeats, tender. "And you don't know how much it hurts, Tony, to see you this way. And everything I try to do to help, you just," she shakes her head.

Tony looks at her. "I'm going to build a suit." He says, steadily. "I'm going to build another one. From scratch."

"Tony."

"No," he says, shaking his head. "Pep, I know what I said. But I can't -- I'm not protected. We're not protected. They could come, any day, and we'd just be open."

"Who could come?"

Tony waves a frustrated hand. "Them. The, other people. Anyone. It doesn't matter."

"Will you take the meds?"

"What?"

"If I," Pepper swallows "if you start building the suits again, then you need to take the meds."

"Pep -- "

"Tony," she says softly "I am, I am at my wits end. Please. Cooperate."

Cooperate. Work with me. Give something back.

Or I'll go.

Tony just --

God, he doesn't want to be alone.

"Sure," he murmurs, and he folds Pepper into his arms. "I'll take the meds. Of course I will, sweetheart."

Tony has this sinking feeling. Deep in his belly.

His head is torn apart, but his heart feels like it's compressing.


	68. Chapter 68

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> discussion of past drug abuse

After, they're lying in bed.

Pepper puts the cigarette between her lips, leans forward for a light.

"It isn't good for you," Tony says, lighting his own.

She takes in a deep drag, and then exhales. "One a month won't kill me."

Tony hums in reply, feeling the nicotine against his throat. He only ever really smokes after he's fucked someone. It's routine. It feels right. The comedown is synonymous the smell of smoke.

"It's not a good look on you." He continues, dabbing his brow with the back of his hand, Pepper's bare skin curling against his side.

"It doesn't suit you, either," she says, sighing. "I should be glad you don't do it often."

"I think I've survived too much croak out."

The room stinks with the smell of their smoke. Tony's used to it. He likes it, even. It reminds him of lazy days back in Boston, with the sun streaming through his windows, Whitney curled against him and crisp white sheets.

"So," he says eventually. "Earlier, you were saying -- "

"I don't want to talk about that, Tony," Pepper smooths, rolling her head to stare up at him. "Let's not talk about that now."

"Seems important." He murmurs.

"It's fine. You'll take your meds, you'll build a suit. That's okay. You deserve that security, I can't stop you saving people's lives. As long as you try to get better Tony, that's all I need."

Tony swallows, and takes a drag to avoid talking.

"I was thinking a summer wedding," Pepper says, and Tony again is completely taken with the route his life is being driven down. "We could do a church. Or somewhere outside. I don't really care what church you want to do it with. Or no church. How does that sound?"

Tony presses a kiss to her hair, lets her continue.

"Honeymoon in Thailand. You don't have family, I have my mom, sisters. My aunt, uncles, cousins. Niece's, nephews. A sister in law. God, I can't believe this is happening. I'll wear a Van Dyne."

Tony frowns, slightly. "I fucked her once."

Pepper blinks. "Tony!"

"What! God, no, not like that. We were kids. It wasn't like -- God, no."

"Is she a friend?"

"I haven't seen her in a while."

"Then you should probably go out more."

Tony snorts, exhales. "Yeah, well."

Pepper stills. One hand creeps up Tony's chest.

"Tony," she says softly "I think -- we shouldn't have secrets."

Sweat prickles the back of his neck, and he bites down the instinctive panic. Why? He has nothing to hide.

"Sure." He says easily, and then bites his lip. "You've been seeing someone else."

Pepper sits up. " _What?"_

"So you haven't?"

"Of course not!"

Tony lets out a breath. "Well that's a relief."

"Jesus Tony!"

"Sorry, okay? It's instinct. Why else would someone like you stay with me?"

Pepper narrows her eyes. And then smiles. Hits him with a pillow.

"You could talk your way out of anything."

"It seemed like you had something to say."

Pepper looks at him. "Ah, no. Actually, you know what? It doesn't matter."

Tony blinks. "Pepper you can't do that."

"Tony -- "

"I will not leave this alone. I need every detail, or I will set Jarvis on you."

Pepper raises her eyebrows, face soft. "You might take it the wrong way."

Now he's scared. "That bad?"

She bites her lip, nods.

Tony swallows. "Okay," he says "well -- "

Tony feels his heart thud in his chest. His throat. Feels it pulse through his ears. Is he going to tell her this? Really, honestly, tell her?

He stubs his cigarette out on the the ashtray by the bed. "Trade me." He says. "You tell me, I tell you."

Pepper takes his hand. "It's not what you want to hear."

"You're scaring me, honey."

Pepper sucks in a breath. Squeezes his hand. "I was married. Before." She says, slowly.

Tony blinks. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"Was he," Tony pauses "was he better in bed, or -- "

A pillow to his face. "Tony!"

"What do you want me to say? God, don't scare me like that!"

"You're not mad?" Pepper squints at him. "You're not even jealous?"

"Why would I -- you chose me, didn't you?"

"He was a lot older than me."

"Well you learn something new everyday. Fuck me, Pep. What's that all about?"

"It was those years -- after I maced you, before I rolled up at your door asking for that job."

"Christ."

"Yeah. I was dissatisfied. It was a phase."

"How much older are we talking?"

She sucks on the last of her smoke. "Well, I was twenty. He was... double that, maybe. Maybe a bit older."

"Sugar daddy."

"A little bit."

"Fuck me."

Pepper smiles at him, draws a hand through her hair. "God it's nice to get that out the way."

"I can imagine."

"What about you?"

Tony freezes. _Lie,_ the voice at the back of his head tells him _fucking lie!_

"Nothing." He says "It was, it's nothing."

"Tony." Pepper says, disparaging. 

"I mean it. Forget it. It feels, I mean, after that. It's not what I was expecting, so."

"Tony," Pepper wheedles, pressing her head to his chest. "Come on."

_Lie._

**_Say you killed someone._ **

_Say you're, tell her you're gay._

**_What? Don't do that._ **

_You are a little gay._

"I was a prostitute." Tony blurts.

Pepper stares at him. " _What?"_

"No that's a lie." Tony sighs, rubbing his forehead. "Sorry I panicked."

"You don't have to tell me if -- "

"It doesn't seem fair."

Pepper sits up. She tugs the blanket over her shoulders, even though it leaves Tony feeling exposed. She puts her hand on his face.

Strokes, maybe. It feels gentle.

The thing is, if Tony can't tell Pepper this --

If he can't trust her --

Then who can he trust?

Then what does he have?

He swallows. Leans into the touch. Closes his eyes.

"When I was younger," he says, voice rough "I was, there was a time. It wasn't -- "

He ducks his head.

"Tony?" Pepper whispers.

"I really don't know how to say this."

"Try."

He sucks in a deep breath. "I was, when I was younger, there were times -- well, there weren't times, it was always. And I think, if we're, if we really do this, you should know," he breaks off, but Pepper doesn't say anything, forcing him to continue.

"There were some -- I was, God, what am I trying to say." He cuts off, exhales, rubs his eyes. "Look, I, drugs. There were some drugs."

Okay. Okay, that gets the ball rolling.

"And I was taking quite a bit, you know? I was always -- it's like the drinking, but worse. _Was_ like the drinking, not that I don't drink, I just don't, you know, I'm not doing drugs now. I haven't, actually, I haven't for, for years. So many years. Because, well there's no way to get into it without this great, this massive thesis on my life, and who has time for that? Who actually has the time to sit down and figure that all out? So."

"It was bad, then." Pepper murmurs.

"I was," Tony sighs "I was a complete crack whore."

"Don't say that."

"Well, it's as close to the truth as I can get it. Towards the end, I was, you know Ty? We were together. Living together. Not, obviously not _together_ together. And I didn't know where, he told me it would be bad rep for SI, so he just, he would get it for me. And it was bad. I couldn't go a day without it. Constant. Smoke, snort, inject." Tony shakes loose his arm. "I still have the marks, here," he says, tracing them with his finger "look."

He holds out his arm and Pepper gently lowers it. "I see them."

"So," Tony closes his eyes, because this part hurts. "Pep, I lost everything. I didn't -- my girlfriend, Ty. I didn't have an apartment, I was relying on Ty for everything. And then I was just... out."

"What did you do?"

"I didn't," Tony rubs his temples. "I didn't have anyone else."

"... Tony?"

"You don't understand," he says "my parents -- my dad was dying, and my mom, well, there's no easy way to say this but she didn't love me enough to care. And Jarvis was gone. And all my," he laughs "my 'friends', Pep, the only one that counted was on tour in Germany."

"So what happened, Tony?"

"And I didn't have anyone else. I didn't, okay? I went through every avenue, exhausted every list. There was no one else. No one. Without him, without him I would've been screwed. God, I would've had to go to my parents. My _parents._ Do you have any idea -- "

"Tony."

"Obie just, he payed for all of it. I was a bit of a mess. Wasn't healthy at all. I lost a few teeth in a fight, I had a dodgy tattoo. I was obviously wasting away, because I wasn't eating. I fucked up my appetite. I was just -- look. Obie payed for all of it, and he didn't ask questions. Nothing. And he was kind about -- " Tony swallows. "He was just kind. To me. He was. No one really."

Pepper looks down. "Oh God." She whispers.

"I've fucked up, haven't I?"

"No." Pepper says. "No. I'm not -- it's not because you were an addict, Tony, God help you, no."

She takes his hand in hers." Do you have any -- Tony, it scares me. All this scares me. The fact that -- you're so, you're always hurting, somehow. And I don't, I can never make it better."

"You can make it better." Tony whispers. "Everything you do makes it better."

They kiss. Tony can feel her tears against his cheek. "Don't cry for me." He mumbles.

She smiles through it. "If you could see what I see," she starts.

"What?"

Pepper looks at him. Shakes her head.

Then just guides him down, onto their bed. Draws the blanket over their bodies. Let's the soft light guide them slowly floating to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two week holiday *screams* i'm gonna get so much writing done im so fucking pumped


	69. Chapter 69

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayy chapter 69 *waggles eyebrows suggestively*

Steve, Clint, Natasha.

They're sitting in the living room, pouring over tablets, laptops, holograms. Or at least, they were.

Now, they've broken out the expensive alcohol that Tony keeps in the kitchen. Scotch, whiskey, wine. Crystal decanters and finger after finger.

Cards, too. Poker.

Steve hasn't played poker in a long, long time.

"We should," Clint sighs loudly, half-way to drunk "we should keep working."

"Mmm," Steve says non-committedly, looking over his cards. 

"We don't want that intel falling into the wrong hands." Clint yawns.

It's dark outside, cold. Steve has been living at Stark tower for about a month.

They don't see Tony often. Thanksgiving came and went, and they received a cursory nod as he passed them, on his way to dinner with some people Steve does not know and does not care to find out about.

It's not that he finds it rude, necessarily. He knows he's busy. He knows that whatever it is Stark does exactly is stressful, probably.

Still.

It's Christmas now, or at least, it's a week away. Downstairs, in the lobby, there's a tree that takes up too much room. Up here, on their main floor, Clint bought an equally big one, only to find it wouldn't fit. So their Christmas tree lies diagonally pressed against a corner.

Clint stares at it, blinking. "Next year," he hiccups "we should go bigger."

That gets a small smile from Natasha, who looks at Steve, who allows himself to laugh. It's strange, this little thing they have, the three of them. Especially considering that, up 'til a month ago, Barton was a stranger.

Natasha swigs from her own bottle. Pure, hard vodka. Steve blinks, and she flashes a grin.

"I never trust anyone else to mix my drink."

"Try not to burn a hole through your stomach."

Christmas, Steve is spending here. With Clint, and Natasha. And Sam. God, he has actual people to spend Christmas with. Sure, they're all just as friendless as he is, and none of them have family. Who cares? Last year, Steve spent Christmas alone in his apartment, watching re-runs of the Wizard of Oz. Literally anything is better than that.

Anything.

"Your move, Steve," Natasha says, sipping again.

Steve blinks. Flicks his eyes over his cards. Smirks.

"You know," Clint muses "this would be more fun with real money. We should ask Tony."

"Ask Tony what?" A voice mutters, somewhere to Steve's left.

They all turn, see him helping himself to the bar. Steve checks his watch; it's nearly 1 am. He's wearing a button down and suit pants, and there are flakes of melting snow in his hair.

"Tony," Steve says. "Hi."

He grunts in reply, pours himself a glass of scotch. He looks freezing.

"Where were you?" Natasha asks, laying down her hand.

"Work."

Her eyes flick to Steve's. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Jarvis?" Tony asks, dropping ice into his glass.

"12:56, Sir."

"Brilliant," Tony says smoothly. "Well fuck that, I'm going to bed."

"Is there a reason you're on this floor?"

Tony sighs. "I'm trying to avoid my responsibilities, mostly."

"Aren't we all," Clint chimes in, misreading the situation entirely.

"Oh you're drunk again," Tony says, and then he smiles. It's the first time Steve has really seen him smile since he started living here. "That's always fun. Mind you, I'm a fine one to talk."

He sips from his glass and shucks at his phone, frowns at the screen. "Shit." He mutters.

"What is it?" Steve asks.

"Nothing," Tony sighs, putting it back and wandering over. "Just -- Christ, are you trying to burn a hole in your stomach?"

Natasha flicks an eyebrow at him. "I'm Russian."

"Congratulations. That means nothing."

"Are you still angry at me?"

"I'm genuinely concerned that we're going to find you with a giant hole in your belly."

"This isn't that bad. You would know."

Tony registers the slight, but takes it in his stride. Takes it too well, because he tips some of Natasha's bottle into his own drink. Sips, and his face doesn't even twist with the taste.

"You're right," he says "not that bad, but it should do me for tonight."

He turns to leave.

"You're going?" Natasha says, to his back.

Tony stops, looks at her. "Yes?"

"Stay." Steve says.

Tony stares at him like he's said something outlandish. Steve feels suddenly incredibly self-conscious. 

"It's... one in the morning."

"Ah yes," Clint nods "that always stopped you. Come," he says, tapping the empty couch seat beside him "sit with us, Anthony."

Tony frowns at him, but he's smiling, in that easy-going way he has. "What are you on, Barton?"

"Stay, Tony," Steve says "you have to have a vacation some time."

Tony sighs, and sits. "No, actually. Officially, sure. But I'll probably be working this year."

"On Christmas?" Steve asks.

"Why not? Get ahead of the game."

"I wouldn't have pegged you for a workaholic."

"I'm really not. I hate every minute of it -- don't deal me in, I'm too tired to have a poker face -- I think I said I would attend a benefit Christmas Eve, anyway. So," he rubs at his head, yawns. "Yeah."

"What about your fiancé?"

"I imagine I will be spending Christmas with her."

"Better than last year."

"Literally anything could be better than last year."

He downs the rest of his drink, and doesn't hesitate to just pour more from Natasha's bottle, this time raw.

"You planning on getting wasted?" Clint slurs.

"This?" Tony says, sipping. "No. I've been drinking since I was nine, this won't do anything."

An hour later, and three drinks down, Steve finds out he was kinda right. But Tony starts to loosen. He rolls up his sleeves, kicks off his shoes. Tips back his head, and occasionally joins the murmur of their conversation. 

He has such strange eyes. They flicker open, sometimes, and Steve catches the roundness of them, the thick lashes. Those aren't Howard's eyes. He must have got them from his mother.

"I bet you wish you could get drunk." Tony murmurs.

"Not so much, now. You should have asked me a year ago."

Tony hums. 

By the ends, sometime around the early hours of the morning, Clint is snorting against Natasha's side. She gently slaps his face, rouses him, and sends him on his way. Steve packs the cards in a haphazard fashion, takes a few bottles to the sink.

Natasha gestures with her chin. "What do we do about him?"

Tony has fallen asleep, long line of his neck exposed, head hanging over the armrest, one hand trailing on the floor. Like this, Steve can see the long scar from where he had he the Arc removed and some more fake-sternum thrown in.

"I feel bad." He says softly. "We should have let him go to sleep."

"No," she says "he needs to talk to people."

"Why do you care?" Steve says quietly.

"I'm not sure. I just know that it's better for him to be with us than... alone."

Tony snorts in his sleep, frowns. He makes a movement like trying to pick up his head, but slumps back down.

"Wake him up." Natasha urges, voice quiet.

"Why me?"

"He doesn't trust me."

Steve gently rocks his shoulder. "Tony," he whispers "hey, Tony."

His eyes flick open, wide, but sudden. He sits up.

"There," he points "there. You've been here, was there -- "

Steve looks at the window. "Was there what?"

"Did anyone, did anyone climb through the window?"

Natasha and Steve share a look. "We're very high up."

"Yeah," Tony says, eye focused somewhere in the distance.

"I think you've had too much to drink."

"Yeah." Tony says again.

"Are you going to go to bed?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," Steve decides, "come on."

"Where are we going?" Tony asks as Steve hauls him up.

"You're going to bed."

Tony checks his watch, expensive, some brand Steve can't recognise. "But it's early. I should be getting up now." He sounds irritated more than confused.

"Sorry about that." Steve says. "Is Miss Potts upstairs?"

"She's got food poisoning."

"Okay," Steve says amicably. "This is the elevator."

Tony spins, stares at him. "Why don't you like me?" He demands.

Steve blinks. "What?"

"Have I done something to you? Honestly. I just, I can't work out why you don't like me."

"I do like you. I mean, I don't hate you."

Tony frowns. He doesn't look offended, just genuinely curious. "Why does it feel like -- are you lying?"

"To be fair, I haven't seen you in four months."

"I've been busy."

"I know."

"Have you made any tracks with -- "

"Me, Clint, and Natasha are all working on it. Sometimes there are leads, sometimes there aren't."

"You haven't, there's no rough idea -- "

"Tony, whoever bought this intel was careful. I'm not entirely sure what we're looking for."

Tony bites his lip. "Right." he says, and he rubs his brow.

"Why do you think I hate you?"

Tony looks up, irritated. "I don't know, Captain, you have a vibe. Fuck, I need to go to bed. Fuck, I have to be up at seven. Fuck why did I let you talk me into staying up."

"Maybe because I hate you and this is all a secret plot to ruin your life."

"Don't give me ideas like that when I'm drunk and impressionable." Tony warns, seriously.

"I'll bear that in mind."

Tony slaps his hand onto the elevator button and it opens quickly, because no one uses this elevator at four in the morning. 

"Have fun." Steve says, and the doors close. Tony offers him a jaunty salute.

Steve stands there, for a while. He can't quite think.

Why does Tony think he hates him? Is he honestly that stand-offish? Or maybe it's just Tony. Maybe he just thinks that.

But he didn't think Clint hated him. Maybe it's because Clint got drunk with him. He doesn't trust Natasha, but he doesn't think she hates him.

Tony Stark leaves an indelible mark on his skin. He can't quite shake it off.


	70. Christmas 2014

Before Christmas, in that one week, there are two, final additions to their team.

Bruce Banner stands, bedraggled and worn, in an old suit. He looks for Tony, spots him, and smiles. 

"How was vacation?" Tony asks, crossing his arms.

Bruce sighs in that world-weary way he has. "I got a tan."

 

And then, one night, as he and Pepper sit drinking, his launch pad catches on fire. 

Not fire; but there's a bright, impossible light. A clap of thunder. Some glass shatters with the force.

Pepper screams, and Tony jolts, and he calls automatically for a suit that is still unfinished.

But then the blonde god swaggers in, throws up his arms, grins. "Stark!" He calls from across Tony's living room.

Tony blinks. "You -- "

He claps Tony on the back, hugs him tight. "It has been too long."

"I don't know you."

Thor just laughs, nods. "And who's this?" He asks, taking Pepper's hand. He looks back at Tony, blinks. "Congratulations!"

Pepper stares at Tony, and then at Thor, and he just shakes his head.

"Clint," she says slowly "we said Clint. Just Clint."

Tony shrugs, and Thor kisses Pepper's hand. "It has been too long my friends."

"It has been," Tony swallows "what are you doing? What -- "

"Thor?" Someone else says, and Tony sees Steve, Bruce, Clint, Natasha, oh God, all of them in one place, this is a disaster.

"Friends!" He says again, throwing his arms into the air, and he has a hug for each of them, too.

Pepper stands, somewhere behind them all. He catches her eye. She shakes her head.

 

So that's that. Christmas that year is spent with Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Bruce Banner and Thor, the God of thunder, because apparently this is what Tony's life has become.

He wasn't supposed to.

He was supposed to be having dinner with Pepper. His fiancé. It was supposed to be a proper Christmas. A fucking normal Christmas. Tony tried for one last time, but he never quite manages it. So this year, Pepper slipped through his fingers.

She smiles tightly and excuses herself back to their floor. He tries to follow, but she closes the elevator in his face.

One Christmas. One fucking normal Christmas, is that so much to fucking ask?

Someone's stuck decorations all over the place, which is nice, kinda. The tree is squished between the ceiling and a wall, and Thor is swinging his hammer over the table, trying to hit ten bottles in a row.

It's okay, maybe. Familiar, even though it's never happened before.

Tony rubs at his eyes, nurses his drink, stares at the wall.

He can hear laughter behind him. Chatter. Fuck, even Natasha is smiling. Thor has all these stories, Bruce all these experiences, Steve all his memories. They're excellent ice-breakers. Tony suspects they'll all be great friends by the end of the week.

He keeps drinking.

One after the other, down and down they go. He should stop, he knows intellectually, but he doesn't want to. Fuck it, it's Christmas. What does he usually do?

He's spent a few with Pepper, Rhodey, Happy. Now Rhodes is with his girlfriend, visiting his family. Happy is in Florida, taking a well-earned break. Pepper is upstairs, sulking. Tony is down here, doing the same.

When he was younger, the earliest Christmas he can remember, he woke up and there were no presents waiting for him. He doesn't remember being upset about it, strangely, because it seems like the kind of thing he would get upset about. But Jarvis had helped. And his mother had taken him to church that evening.

Dinner. His mother, his father. Jarvis. They'd all sit round the table. Maybe his parents would argue. At some point, Jarvis would take him to bed.

A Christmas like any other day, really.

And then there was the time when his mother --

The Christmas' he spent with Ty. With Whit. Those were happy. Ty's dad would pull funny faces and cut the turkey, even when they got too old for that.

He closes his eyes, and wills himself somewhere else. Anywhere else. Just not here, with this team who don't feel like a team at all.

"You having fun over here, Mr Stark?"

Tony cracks open and eye, peers at the form in front of him. Familiar, vaguely. Known well enough to mark him as Steve's friend, the one from the trials.

"Sam Wilson," he says, holding out his hand.

Tony looks at it, and blinks himself back to common courtesy. He flashes a smile, shakes.

"You wear my wings." He says, off-hand. He remembers those, remembers the specs. They were fun to build; Tony didn't get to say that a lot at the time.

"My wings, and yes." Sam corrects. 

"So what brings you to," Tony looks behind him, at the crowd gathered, talking animatedly "here."

Sam smirks. "I was invited."

"You must've been. It's not easy to sneak up. Even with wings."

"Where's your girl?"

Tony sips. "Upstairs," he says "she feels sick."

"And you're not with her? It's Christmas."

"Yeah well isn't that just the damn problem." Tony growls, pouring himself some more.

"I think you've had enough." Sam says softly.

"Oh?" Tony pauses, looking up at him. "Who the fuck do you think you are to tell me that?"

Sam holds up his hands. "Concerned citizen."

Tony narrows his eyes, and drinks more on principle.

"You've drunk enough there for the whole church, Stark."

"Tony," he replies "don't bother with formalities."

"Tony." Sam says easily. "Tony, you don't look like you're having fun."

"It's Christmas. I'm not supposed to. Never have, never will."

"You're coming across a little bitter."

"And you're a little persistent."

Sweat beads Tony's brow. His glass begins to condense.

"You seem tense."

"Well that's probably because I am."

Sam shifts his weight, crosses his arms. "I thought this was your party."

"Why are you talking to me?"

"Because I see a man at a Christmas party sitting alone and drinking and that's never a good sign."

Tony downs it in one, swipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "I don't take that advice from you. Hell, I don't even take it from my girl. I don't know you; why are you talking to me."

Sam looks at him for a while. "So Natasha mentioned -- "

Tony seethes. "Of course she did."

"She's concerned."

Tony laughs. "Natasha never has, or never will, be concerned about me. She feels guilty. How does she put it? Red in her ledger. She knows she sold me out, and she's trying to take off some of the weight. Well it's too fucking late," Tony pushes back from the table "I have work to do."

"It's Jesus' birthday."

"I never believed in that shit anyway."

"Yeah, but if you did, imagine how Jesus would feel knowing that you don't want to party hard on his special day?"

"Literally who are you?" Tony blinks at him. "Why are you saying that, what are you doing?"

"Look," Sam sighs. "I'm not gonna force you. But I have experience with whatever exactly it is you're dealing with right now. It's my job to look for people like you, and it's my job to help them."

"And Natasha's stuck you on me." Tony says loudly, loud enough that Natasha turns to look at him, glares.

"Yes."

"Well fuck her, and fuck you, too."

Tony spins, and makes to leave. He's stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't." Steve says. "Come on. Stay."

It's strange, because the idea that Steve could actually want him to stay does wonders for his mood. But then he remembers the work, and Pepper upstairs, and that it's Christmas and he should be with her, and he shakes his head.

"Don't worry about it, Cap." He says, tone more even. "I have work to do."

"It's Christmas." Steve says, as if that's supposed to be an explanation.

Tony feels a little apologetic. He doesn't want to snap at this earnest, good man. Because no matter how irritating he finds him, he means well.

"Pepper will kill me." He says, and then he smiles. "It's fine," he says easily "enjoy yourself." He claps Steve on the shoulder. "Live a little."

 

Stupid fucking asshole, who does he think he is? Who do any of them think they fucking are? How dare they, how dare he, she, set Sam Wilson on him in some kind of misguided attempt to --

Tony's bottle slides off the table, his glass shatters on the ground, and he roars. Fuck them, fuck all of them. He doesn't need them, and he doesn't need --

He stands there, breathing heavily, fists clenched. Draws the back of his hand across his mouth.

Fuck, he needs a holiday. He really needs a holiday.

Him and Pepper. They can go away for New Year. Definitely. They'll do that. They'll play at being happy, and pretend not to notice what's right in front of them. It'll be fun.

(They never do go to Thailand)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sings* haaappy familieees


	71. Chapter 71

"Steve," Natasha says, running to catch up. "Steve, wait."

He turns, coffee in hand, and looks at her. There's a piece of paper in her grip.

"Something important?" He says absently, sipping.

She sound a little out of breath, which is strange considering she's one of the fittest people he knows.

"The suits," she breathes "the suits. I think I've got a lead."

Steve snatches the paper from her hand. "What is this?"

"A gala. A New Year charity auction."

"What are they auctioning?"

"Mostly rich people selling stuff they don't need and bought on impulse. But everyone will be there."

"This isn't a lead."

"Actually, I think it might be."

Steve winds out into the living room. "Explain." He sighs.

"Steve, this is literally an event for people to go sell covert things. Word is that some of New York's biggest underground clientele will be attending."

"Nat, I thought we were looking at threats. HYRDA. Russia. North Korea. ISIS. Not -- "

"You're thinking too big, and you're thinking impractically. Be reasonable. This mole had a small window of time to sell off these files. Whoever got them was someone who was looking for them."

"That could be anyone, and it could mean anything."

"Absolutely," Natasha agrees "but that's no reason to ignore a chance when we're given one." 

Steve pauses. "Will I have to wear a tuxedo?"

"Yes."

"Damn."

Natasha smiles, and then it falls, slightly. "Tony's going to have to cancel his holiday."

"Tony's already cancelled his holiday."

Steve jerks, spins round. "Tony?"

The other man looks up, grins. His hair is sticking up in an uncomfortable way, messy. He generally looks unkempt. 

"What are you -- "

"Oh, you know. Working."

Steve blinks. "You're -- why are you hiding behind a couch."

Tony hiccups. "This is where, I think I fell asleep, here."

"You've been drinking." Natasha notices.

"You've been drinking." Tony mimics. "No shit."

"I thought you were going on holiday?"

Tony sighs. "Pepper went."

"... Without you?"

"Something came up."

"What came up?"

Tony rubs at his hair, tries to flatten it to his head. "You don't watch the news very often, do you?"

"I was jogging." Steve says irritably. "What was on the news?"

Tony snorts. And then he laughs. He looks at Natasha, laughing, and then back at Steve. Hysterical.

And then it cuts off, abruptly. "I'm being hounded."

"Excuse me?"

"Jarvis?" Tony says absently, hopping over the couch and slumping. "Show them the story."

Billionaire Tony Stark Called Into Question Over Roll in HYDRA Terrorism

"What?" Steve manages.

"Shh," Tony says, waving a hand. "Listen."

The women on the screen is standing in front of the tower. Of their tower and -- oh God, it's live.

"... called into question over alleged links to the terrorist organisation after it has been revealed he was an active part in the cover up of the death of a prominent member."

"Tony," Natasha says in a low voice "what are they -- "

"Obadiah Stane, once vice-president of the then Stark Industries, was a member of terroristic organisation, and is yet another in a string of high-profile associates of the group. Stane reportedly died in a plane crash in 2008, yet shocking new evidence, taken from The May Files, shows that Stane was in fact killed while operating a replica of one of his protégé's Iron Man suits, again calling into question Stark's claim to the armour -- "

"Did you kill him?" Steve asks bluntly.

"Not exactly. But he died because of me, yes. And I didn't try to save him."

"... the link brings to light a shocking underworld of terrorism, yet another that has shaken our country to the core. Many are now calling for an inquest into Stark's role in the organisation, if such one ever existed. They say -- "

"So they think you're HYDRA." Natasha says slowly.

"Not exactly." Tony tips back his head an closes his eyes. "They know Obie was HYDRA. And they know he died piloting an armour. And we were close. We were always close, and I covered up his death, at the time, because SHIELD didn't want anyone knowing that the tech had been replicated."

"So it looks like you were both HYDRA, he died wearing an armour you built, and you covered it up, because you didn't want to implicate yourself."

"Exactly."

"Jesus."

On the screen, they show a picture of Stane and Tony, arms wrapped around each other, grinning, in front of a podium.

"Obie was HYRDRA." Tony murmurs. "He was -- he had my parents killed. HYRDA had my parents killed."

Steve looks quickly at Natasha. "He knew." Steve says slowly.

Tony looks up. "What?"

"We -- when HYRDA went down, Nat and I found an old facility. We -- Tony, I'm sorry."

He looks at them, frowns. "What do you mean?" He says softly.

"HYDRA -- they killed people, Tony, when they found out. Your -- Howard founded SHIELD, Tony. Your father founded it, and now we know that SHIELD is HYRDA. And your father was good, and he wanted the best, but he must have found out."

"And Obie had him -- " 

"Killed." Natasha finishes. "Killing two birds with one stone, he'd be safe and he'd get the company."

Tony stands. Clears his throat.

"You see," he starts, turning to look back at the TV. "You know, he told me. My dad. He told me not to trust him."

"You couldn't have known."

"He told me not to trust Obie, and now look what's happened."

"It's not your fault."

Tony palms his brows, wipes his eyes. "They're going to hunt me down, now." He murmurs. "They've been looking for an excuse to get me ever since I stopped wearing the suit."

"I'm sorry." Natasha says abruptly. "This is my fault."

"No," Tony sighs. "It's not. Just -- unavoidable."

"Why isn't Pepper with you?" Steve says.

Tony looks at him, and he looks sad. Tony Stark just looks sad. There's no bluster, no strength. He just looks tired.

"She's on a break. Needs a holiday."

"I see."

Tony looks straight ahead. "I think," he says, swallowing. "I'm going to have a drink. And then sleep. And we'll see. We'll see what happens."

"We have a lead. The New Year charity gala. You'll come?"

"Yeah," Tony sighs. "A great opportunity for everyone to spit on me. It'll be fun."

"You're not actually a terrorist."

"Imagine what the stock drop will be."

"Tony."

"The stock drop, and publicity. I have to get this tower done, I have to fucking open this tower, and I have the world breathing down my neck." Tony fists his hands in his hair. "Oh, fuck. Oh, God. Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Steve turns back to the screen, where there's now a picture of Tony declining to speak at Stane's funeral, soon replaced by a picture of Howard Stark clasping a hand round his shoulders.

"... the implication of the shocking allegations leaves many questions. Exactly how far back does this go? Howard Stark, heralded as a World War II hero, has been revealed to be an original founder of the SHIELD organisation, now known to be an alibi for terrorism. Is this a family affair? Many are now speculating the origins of the Stark family, calling into question -- "

"You need a press release. Now."

"Too late, but sure." Tony says. 

"You need Potts to get back here."

"I can't make her do that."

"Tough. I don't care what problems you're having," Natasha puts in "she's still CEO."

Tony swallows. "I can't do this. I can't -- I have, the tower, the suits, the arc, HYDRA, all the bad press, I can't deal with it all. I can't do that."

"There will be ways to -- "

"Don't you understand?" Tony spits. "The -- Obie had stuff over me, Steve. He knew things. And he told those things to HYDRA, he told them to Stern, and now whoever is heading this, whatever is left of HYDRA, it's all out there," Tony actually takes a step back, visibly shaken. "What if it's already been released? What if it's part of all that information, just waiting to be found? They're still going through it, fuck, what if they find my file?"

Steve's eyes flick to Natasha's and there's real horror there. Real, visceral horror, on her face, because Natasha thought ahead, and she scrapped her file, but she never thought to remove Tony's.

"I don't know where to start." Tony says, and he literally looks torn with indecision. "I don't know what to do."

In the quiet, all they can hear is Tony's hard breathing.

"We'll make a team." Steve says slowly.

"Excuse me?"

"A team. Me, you, Nat, Clint, Bruce, Thor. We'll be a team. We'll find your suits. We'll, I don't know, get a publicist. Get good publicity. Show everyone that we're not terrorists. You have to put on a suit -- you have to be Iron Man again."

Tony blinks. "How's that -- "

"He's right." Natasha says. "You need to, we need to, show the public we're not a threat."

"So this is your solution?"

"A team. Yes. We'll remind everyone that we saved the world. We'll remind them that you flew a nuclear missile through a wormhole even though you knew you'd die. We will fix this."

"Why would you help me?" Tony croaks. "The suits, I understand, because no offence, but that was you're fault. But everything else. You're putting your neck on the line."

"You're my friend."

"I barely know you, Steve."

"True." He admits. "But I'll figure you out. We're living together."

Tony closes his eyes. "If I agreed to this," he murmurs "then I'd need a good lawyer. I don't think Harold is going to cut it anymore."

"And publicist. We'll need an excellent publicist." Natasha reminds.

"Right," Tony says. "Right."

At that moment, the scene on the screen changes to a picture of short woman with dark brown hair, done high in a bun. White dress, pearls. It's a wedding. 

Howard Stark, standing next to her. Oh. Oh, these are Tony's parents.

But Tony doesn't notice. He keeps his eyes closed, and the story moves on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tony is literally in so much shit idek what to say


	72. Chapter 72

" _... thousands now calling for a federal inquest into Stark's assets -- "_

_"Well, it's a tell all documentary, you know? What you have to ask yourself if, do we really know the man behind the mask? Who is Tony Stark?"_

_"... not believing any of it, Richard. Quite frankly, as far as we're concerned, this man is a terrorist. Mr Stark has refused to give up his suits time and time again -- "_

_"What jurisdiction does he have? He's not military -- hell, he's never even been trained to fly -- "_

_"And I've got insider sources. This book is going to blow a dent in the psyche of the American public. It's every secret the Stark family has, I've traced him right down to the roots. I can't give too much away, but if you want to find out you'll have to buy it when it hits shelves in March --_ "

"Jarvis," Tony croaks. "Mute."

Tony lifts his silver flask, the one his father gave him so long ago. Tips the liquid into his coffee. It's time to get black-out pissed.

"Sir, there's a call on line one."

Line one. Friends and family. Well, friends. Friend.

"Hello?" He answers wearily, knocking back his cup.

"Tony?" Pepper says. "Tony. Hi."

"Sweetie." Tony says, and he tries to keep the bitterness from his tone. "Sweetie, hi. It's so fucking nice of you to call me. How's Thailand?"

"I'm sorry, Tony."

"Thanks. _Thanks._ That doesn't mean anything unless you come home, honey."

"I'm not coming home, Tony."

Tony pauses. "What?"

"I said I'm not coming home."

"Oh. Are you, are you staying for a bit longer? Because, Pep, I'm up to it in shit right now -- "

"I'm not -- I'm not coming home. For awhile. For, Tony. Six months. Maybe more."

"That's a long holiday, Pep." Tony says, voice strained. 

"It's not a holiday, Tony."

Silence.

Tony slumps in his chair. "You can't do that to me."

"Tony -- " Pepper's voice cracks. "I'm sorry." She whispers.

"After everything I've told you. After everything we've done."

"I can't sleep, Tony." She says softly. "I can't sleep at night. Not without, without seeing Killian, and Maya, and -- that red, the orange. I can't do that. And neither can you."

"You can't just leave."

"I'm resigning."

"You can't leave me like this."

There are no words for what Tony is feeling. He's, he can't, he loves her, he loves her, he loves her, and now she's just leaving him, why is she, what is she, what did he do, what can he do, he needs to make it better, he can't, he won't --

"It's not like that," Pepper says desperately. "It's not, this isn't malicious."

"You're being selfish in the worst kind of way."

"I know."

Tony stands. "You can't -- _you can't leave me._ You can't _break up with me over the phone!"_

He crushes his glass into the table.

"I'm going to travel."

"Pepper they're after me. Don't you -- how could you leave me?"

"I need time to get my mind straight."

"So do I! So do I -- Pepper, please! Please, they're about to eat me alive!"

"You have Rhodey. You have -- I know your team will help."

"You don't love me?" Tony says, and his voice drops off into this quiet tone. "You don't love me. I gave you a ring, and you, you accepted. But you don't love me. What, why would you -- "

"I love you. I loved you. And this doesn't have to be over, Tony. I don't want this to be over. But I need a break. This week has shown me that. I need a break, and I think, you need a break, and -- "

"I need a break?" Tony blinks. " _I NEED A BREAK? I can't get a fucking break, Pepper."_

"From each other, we need a break from each other, and we need, when I come home we'll be ready t0 -- "

"So that's it, then? You leave me when I need you and expect me to put my life on hold until you get back and then play happy families even though I am _falling apart inside_ and most days, most days I can't even, I won't, you said you loved me," Tony accuses "you said you loved me, you said that, I, you lied, Potts, you fucking lied, because you got what you wanted and then I was too much for you, admit it, fucking admit it."

"You're not the man I fell in love with."

" _You fell in love with a murderer!"_

"No. I fell in love with you, as you are. And after, after New York, you changed. And I don't know if it was good or bad, if it was -- "

"You said you loved me."

"I do."

"No," Tony says, and he sucks in a breath, the shards of glass digging into his palm, blood running red down his wrists "no you don't. You don't. Not anymore."

"I love you, Tony. But maybe -- maybe we're not supposed to be together. This way."

Tony falls to his knees. "Don't come back," he spits, and he smashes a fist against a workbench "just, don't fucking come back. Never fucking see me again, I never want to, I don't ever want to see your fucking face again."

"Tony!"

"Go away. Leave. Fuck off. Fine. Fine. I wasted, I wasted all those years with you, thinking you loved me and more fools me, really, I'm the idiot here for ever, ever thinking that someone like you would ever want anything more from me than sex and, and money, and a chance to be better. Why would, fuck, why would anyone want anything from me -- "

"It wasn't like that!"

"Sure you love me. Great you love me, but if you cared you would stay and you would help no matter what it did to you because that's what I would do, Pepper, if you were me and I was you I would stay. I wouldn't leave and I wouldn't -- "

"You didn't, Tony. You didn't help. I had nightmares, too."

"It's not the same."

"It's close."

"Pepper -- "

"We're not meant to be."

"You could have left at any time, but you choose to go now, now that I'm in shit and SI is fucked and I want to die. Is that it?"

"That's not fair. I stuck through Stane, Vanko, and kept everything running when you spent three months in a cave and I've been picking up after you for years. And listen, Tony, I don't mind that, I fucking don't, okay? I love you. And you mean the world to me. I have given so, so much to you. And now, I can't do it anymore. I just can't do it. I'm at a breaking point, and it's not your fault, it's not, but I can't handle this, and I'm sorry I have to leave now, of all times, but if I don't I'm going to loose my mind, Tony."

"You're breaking up with me."

"No. No, I'm saying I'm taking a break, and when I get back we can -- "

"You're breaking up with me."

"TONY I AM NOT!" Pepper shouts. "Would you," he hears her inhale deeply, breathe out. "Listen. I'm sorry. Tony, I'm -- I never told you. I never told you this. I'm sorry. And maybe, maybe it's my fault, because if I'd told you, we could've, we could've worked through it together."

"Worked through what." Tony says, voice hoarse.

Pepper's breath is shaky. "And I was scared," she adds "you need to know that. I didn't know what I wanted, what I was going to do. And it didn't seem like your problem, and you were scared as it, you hadn't been sleeping. At the time, you weren't -- you just weren't stable. So I didn't want to tell you."

"Tell me what, Pep, sweetie."

He feels like there's glass in his throat. In his lungs. He has on a little time left to make this work. He can still fix it. He can still fix this.

"When Killian -- this isn't your fault. But when Killian took me, Tony, I was pregnant. Not -- listen, Tony, I didn't know if I was going to keep it, I'm not mother material, if I wanted to be a mother, I would have done so, long ago. I would have told you. But, but after, when I realised it was gone, I couldn't, that was my last chance, and it's more that, I didn't want kids, but suddenly I was in a really good place, and I had a stable relationship and a good job, so I thought, if Tony wanted, if you wanted, we could -- "

She cuts off. There's silence down the line, only broken by Pepper's laboured breathing.

"As soon as it was gone, it was an opportunity I could never have again, understand? And I started to see the worst in you. And that's not your fault. It wasn't because you were bad. It was because I kept imagining what it would be like if I had just, if I had just kept the child. And I felt like a monster, Tony. I kept, you remember those first nights? We were sleeping separately because every time I had a nightmare I'd set the bed on fire. I wasn't safe. And then you fixed me, and then you had surgery, and it was one thing after another, and next thing I know we're in New York and you're proposing, and I couldn't say no. How could I say no to that? But the whole time, at the back my mind, there was this voice, this, this thing, leeching, telling me I was wrong, that this was wrong, and I knew, I knew I couldn't be happy."

"We can have kids," Tony says, voice numb. "I would love to have kids with you."

"It's not about what we want, Tony." Pepper whispers. "Because those kids, that kid, they'll be alive because you didn't want me to leave. They'll have a distant mother and a father who -- a high-functioning alcoholic, who, who's always busy, always working, and how is that fair? That's no way to raise a child. That's no way to -- "

"I can change, though." Tony says desperately. "You know I can change. Please. Let me change."

"Tony, this isn't you. It's me, understand? I'm fucked up. I'm screwed in the head. And I'm going to take time to get myself straight."

"You can't leave me with the company." Tony croaks. "I can't do that. Not now. Pep don't you understand, they think my parents were terrorists. They think I'm HYDRA. I need to get the new tower up, my suits, there's intelligence just out there and anyone could take it -- "

"Tony I am being selfish. After all these years, I'm going to be selfish. I've given everything to you, sweetie. I've always been here. But I need to, I need to stop. Now. Or I don't know how much longer I'll last."

"Don't leave me." Tony tries, desperately. "Please I can't be alone. Not now."

"It's not you, Tony. It's me."

"Please," he says "I ca -- "

She hangs up.

Pepper hangs up.

His mind flicks from topic to topic, from thing to fucking thing, and all he can fall back on is is that it? That's all he has? The break up of his relationship, and the, he has nothing to live for, nothing at all. He's desperate, he's empty, and he's going, what is happening? Oh God, what, why would she leave? _Why would she leave?_

Tony howls into his knees and the shards dig deeper into his hands, cutting too far. The pain is extraordinary, and it mingles with the alcohol left of the glass.

He's alone. He's so fucking alone, and he has nothing left to live for.

Maybe Iron Man. Maybe that. But what good is that, when the whole world hates him? What good would that do? No one wants Iron Man. No one needs him. They have other heroes, now.

All Tony's life, he's wanted to be loved. That's all. And he realises that, now. Everything he's ever done, because his mom didn't love him and his dad didn't care, and they never bothered, and Jarvis left him because obviously, in that way that only Tony is capable of, he misjudged, he fucking misjudged and assumed that Jarvis loved him even though Tony was obviously a pathetic little thing who didn't get love.

And Ru left, and Tony had thought, he had thought she loved him, but she didn't. And Whit left, and never called back. And Ty threw him out. And now Pepper. Another in the long line of his monumental fuck-ups, of his desperate half-cocked attempts at being wanted by _someone,_ just _one person_ who would want him, and hold him, and just, love him no matter what, no matter how badly he inevitably screws up.

Everyone leaves him, in the end. Tony isn't worth it. Too selfish, too broken. He has no friends, no family, nothing of worth at all. No matter how hard he tries, no matter how desperate he becomes, no one has ever loved him.

He's never been wanted. And that hurts.

Is it so much to ask? Is it? Just, all he wants is someone that would hold him. Someone that doesn't leave because he gets scared, sometimes, because sometimes he wakes up screaming and he doesn't, he's sorry, he doesn't know what to do, he doesn't know how to stop the nightmares and he fucking wishes he could. He wishes he knew how to be nice and normal and how to touch without fucking but he can't.

He wants someone that will never leave. Someone to love him, unconditionally. His parents never did. No one has ever, ever loved him for him, with all his faults, with all his blunt edges, all his --

It's his problem, really. He's an unlovable thing. People have tried, and look what happens. They end up tortured by fire-breathing extremists. 

She said she loved him. She said she loved him. She said she loved him.

Why did she lie? How did Tony get it so wrong? God, how _embarrassing._ He thought, he was pathetic, wasn't he? Chasing after, desperate. He loved her so fucking much, why would, he's such an _idiot._

She should have told the truth from the start. She should have told him. Not left him to this. Not left him to --

No. No it's okay. It's okay it's okay. Calm down. Think. What do you need? What, you need to sort this out, so what do you do? Come on, Tony, you have the weight of the world on your shoulders and no one wants to help, what do you do?

He sucks in a breath, stares at his bloody palms. Reaches back, up onto the desk, and takes a drink.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so how about that age of ultron trailer eh?


	73. Chapter 73

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so all those in agreement that Pepper Potts wins universe's worst timing award say 'aye'

God, Steve hates this.

Hates these. These galas, with fake women and sociopathic men. He can't stand them.

His fingers twitch on his champagne flute and he wishes, not for the first time, that he could get ragingly drunk. 

"Enjoying yourself?" Clint says, sliding beside him. He gets a suit and tie, not great, but good. Better than a fucking tuxedo.

"It's blast." Steve says, voice numb. He can barely remember what they're here for. Criminal underground, keep that in mind. Criminal underground, criminal underground, criminal underground. 

"Shame about the canapés."

"Yeah," Steve says distractedly. "A real shame."

"So you buying anything tonight?" Clint asks conversationally.

"We're supposed to be working."

"Yeah but they don't know that," Clint says, cocking his head and gesturing at the rabble behind them. "You play the part."

"There is nothing here I could want."

"Not even a hot little slice?"

Steve's face darkens.

"Sorry," Clint says. "I forgot she blew you off. Seems like everyone's doing badly in the love department right now."

"Bad? Yes. Catastrophic? Only if you're Tony."

Clint sucks in a breath from behind his teeth, winces. "Poor guy. That seems tough. I wouldn't know, because I've had exactly zero serious relationships."

He takes another flute from a waiter, throws his old one into a potted plant. "I feel like maybe leaving him alone wasn't a good idea." Steve says, shifting slightly.

"He's a big boy."

"That's not what I meant."

"It's what I meant; he's not going to off himself. At least, not yet, anyway."

"That's not funny."

"Stark's a good guy. The alternative is crying, and I don't want to waste my tears."

They stand there, sipping, and watching the people go by. Happy, carefree people, who have money, and don't have the public calling for their head on a made up terrorist charge.

Clint nudges Steve in the ribs. "Hey," he gestures "does that look dodgy?"

Steve squints, and sees the area Clint's pointing to. A door, barricaded by a red velvet rope and two bouncers dressed in black.

"Looks like it could be a gentleman's club, Clint."

"Or it could the centre of the New York black market. Either way, don't you kinda want to check it out?"

They move forward, through the throngs of people in their long gowns and suits, stop at the two men. 

"We're going in, if that's okay with you." Clint says cheerfully.

The bouncer carefully places one hand on his shoulder. "No entry, Sir." He says politely, because this place is for rich people and they like to keep the facade of civility. "You need an invitation."

"Why?" Steve says. "What's going on."

"This room has been privately leased, Captain. We're not allowed to disclose that information."

"Captain." Clint says. "So you know who this guy is. Why don't you let us in, and he won't bash your heads together?"

"We doubt that the Captain will do that, Sir."

"The Captain is curious to see what's going on in there." Steve drawls. 

"Can we offer you some complementary chardonnay, Sirs?"

"No, we'll leave the wine -- wait, how much does that cost?"

"$2000 a bottle, Sir."

"We'll take that," Clint says, the man handing him the bottle. "And we'll also see your little club, if you don't mind -- "

The men stand, shoulder to shoulder, blocking the entrance. "Please don't make a scene, Sir."

At that moment, a woman flicks back the curtain, whispers in a man's ear. He raises an eyebrow, and they both stand aside.

"You're invited." He says simply, and Steve looks and Clint before they step inside.

It's room, much like any other. There aren't any lap-dancers, much to Steve's relief, but there is a man. Short, or at least, not tall. Dark hair, olive skin. He looks up, and Steve blinks.

"Tony?" He blurts.

The man flashes a smile. "Ah, not quite. But you're close."

Clint sharpens beside Steve. "You're not an illegitimate brother, are you?"

"Do your research. I'm his cousin."

Steve frowns. "His cousin died."

"His father's brother's son died, yes. I'm maternal."

"Oh." Steve says. "Ah."

"Ah." The man mimics, fiddling with his cuffs. "Yeah, I know."

He looks about thirty, thirty-five. Not old, not young. Everything about him is perfectly placed.

"Maria was one of the oldest," he says, off-hand. "I'm the son of the youngest brother, if that clears anything up."

"Oh," Clint says. "Okay. Well, we have no fucking clue what you're talking about."

The man rolls his eyes, and lights a cigarette. "Want one?" He offers.

"No thanks." Clint and Steve say in unison.

"Suit yourself," he says, taking a drag and slouching onto the couch. "So. You're here about the suits."

Clint and Steve look at each other. "You know about the suits?"

The man blinks at them. "Yes. Obviously. That's why -- that's why you're here, right? You, you did know that we were the ones that bought the intel?"

"Yes." Clint says slowly. "Actually, no."

"You're the people that saved the world, huh?"

"Espionage isn't really my thing." Steve says.

The man snorts. "Fine. Okay. Well, you're here now. I suppose you want to know what we're going to do with it?"

"Start with who 'we' is."

"My family. My business. Before you start, we're not mafia, so use your imagination."

"Aren't you Italian?" Clint asks.

"What, we're Italian so we must be mafia? That's fucking racist."

"To be fair, you do seem like criminals."

"Well we're not." The man snaps "Anymore."

"Ah, see." Clint chimes in. "'Anymore'. That's the key word here."

"We bowed out. Had to, after Anthony died."

"And he was?"

"He organised things. He was murdered."

"Mafia." Clint whispers loudly.

"He was murdered." The man continues. "I'm glad you find it funny."

"I don't have sympathy for criminals."

"We're not what you think."

"What's your name?" Steve interrupts.

The man pauses. Thinks. "Paul."

"Is that your real name?"

"I don't have any reason to lie."

"You stole our friends tech." Steve points out.

"Bought my cousin's intelligence so no one else could get there hands on it. I'm a real criminal."

"What?" Steve says, distractedly. "What did you say?"

"I bought it, Captain, to keep it out of enemy hands. I don't care for it."

Clint blinks. "You... don't want to use the tech."

The man sniffs, so like Tony. "Of course not. I'm a businessman."

"So why would buy that tech for Tony? Just to be nice?"

"No," Paul admits. "I did it so my competitors would not get tech that was potentially harmful to my cause. Also, I have a hero complex. Partly, Stark is somewhat my cousin, even if he does deny my existence."

"To be fair," Steve says pointedly "I don't think he knows you exist."

Paul sips from his glass. "Mmm," he says, placing it down "that's true. We haven't made an effort; he's too like his father."

"I'm not sure about that." Steve says.

"Whatever it is, you can let him know that his tech is safe with us."

"You won't give it back?"

"No." Paul says succinctly. "We won't. But we won't use it, either. If he wants to come and shoot down his mother's family, he's welcome to, but even a man like Stark has his limits."

Steve looks at him. "And we're supposed to believe that you just won't use it. Or sell it."

"We have everything to lose if our competitors get their hands on this information, Captain. We also gain nothing from using it. It's win win for you. We'll keep it safe for Stark in the hope that one day he'll return the favour."

"Mafia." Clint says again. "This is, you're part of the mafia."

Paul ignores him. "Tell him." He prompts. "If he wants, my door is always open. I'm not hard to find."

Steve looks at Paul. And then at Clint.

"Okay," he says slowly. "Fine. We'll tell him. Maybe he'll get in touch. But we know who you are now. If that tech is released? If we see any attempts at replicas? You're fucked. Understand? We will fuck you up."

"Duly noted, Captain. You can leave, now."

Clint tugs on his arm, and he smoothly leaves the room. "Is that it?" Clint says. "That's the tech?"

"I don't know." Steve says, and he sound uncertain. "We'll talk to Tony. He's bound to know more."

Clint clucks his tongue. "Are we great or what? Fuck, this'll make him happy."

"I can never tell if you're joking."

"I'm being serious," Clint says "he's up to his eyeballs in shit, Steve. This is, this is quite a major thing he doesn't have to worry about."

"We haven't solved it."

"No, but we can handle it from here. It's fine. God, maybe he'll sleep tonight."

Steve lowers his voice. "He's not sleeping?"

Clint looks left and right. "Last night," he murmurs "I was walking through the main floor, past the kitchen. I thought I heard something, right? Like, moaning. Like some kind of wounded animal. I flick on the lights, and he's just sitting there with his coffee."

"It was him?"

"Either that or he was listening to wolf howls for kicks, Steve. He's a fucking mess."

"It was -- bad, of her to leave, just when things got so tough."

"Well I can't blame her."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah," Clint shrugs. "She's a civilian, Steve. She's not like you and me, or even Tony. I think what happened, with Extremis, I think it might've messed her round a bit.'

Steve shakes his head. "Yeah well it's screwed whichever way you look at it. Tony doesn't get to run away, and he doesn't get to resign."

Clint frowns. "Why do you care so much?"

Steve sips his drink. "I don't. I just don't like it when people run away from their problems."

"What, even when they're inexperienced and scared?" He demands.

"No, not when -- look, I have nothing against Pepper. And I'm sorry she had to go through that. But as it stands, I feel a bit more sympathy for Tony right now, considering he's not on a six month vacation in Thailand."

Clint raises an eyebrow. "Sure, Cap. Okay. You seem a little tense."

"I'm tense," Steve snaps "sure."

"Worried about Stark?"

"I gave my life to keep HYDRA down only to end up working for them." Steve says quietly. "Everything I do, now, I do with the intention of crushing them into the ground. And helping Tony serves that purpose."

Clint looks at him. And then he sighs. "It just happened so fast. I feel bad, for leaving him at the tower. It's new year, he shouldn't be alone."

"Oh now you feel bad."

"Yes," Clint says "it happens. Maybe we should bring him back a woman."

"I'm not a pimp, Barton."

"I feel like we should do something."

"He's probably already asleep." Steve muses. "He said something about just going to sleep early."

Clint whistles. "And to think he was such a wild child. Just shows you how much a person can change."

"Excuse me?" Someone says, behind Steve. "Are you -- I don't want to be rude, but are you Captain America?"

Steve turns, takes in the woman. Tall, or maybe that's just the heels. Not old, but not young, either. Maybe later thirties, early forties. Black hair, scooped on her head in bun. Red lips. Curve-hugging dress down to her knees. Pearls. Blue, blue eyes.

Shockingly blue. Disconcertingly so.

But also beautiful. Really fucking beautiful.

Steve blinks. "Yes?"

The woman laughs, a chiming sound. "You don't sound so sure."

"Can you blame me? I get nervous in front of gorgeous women."

She laughs. Fuck, where did that come from? Christ Jesus Mary Joseph where did he learn to talk like that? What is he doing?

She doesn't blush, but the compliment makes her smile. An honest smile; she soaks up the praise. "That means a lot coming from you, Captain."

"Steve." He says easily, and she shakes his hand.

"Steve," she muses. "Steve Rogers. I knew that, obviously."

Steve sighs. "Of course you did."

"No no! Not in a bad way! It's just, we studied you at school, you know. It was big deal. Captain America. Wow. I'm talking to Captain America."

It would be awful to take advantage of this woman's hero worship. At the same time, though, he was blown off by Sharon, and it's new years, and it's not like she doesn't know what she's getting into.

This could literally be the world's quickest hook up, and in Steve's defence, it's been a long, long time.

How long has a person ever gone in-between partners? Is seventy years record?

"You know," he says "there's a great view of the fireworks back at the tower."

The woman stares at him. "Fuck, I didn't expect it to be that easy."

"You're interested?"

"Absolutely. Did you come by cab? I have a car, I'll drive. Christ, I didn't peg you for a one-night stand kind of guy."

"Why not," Steve sighs "everyone else seems to be doing it."

"That's the spirit!" The woman laughs, and she strokes one hand down the back of his neck. "Embrace the new year in style."

Ah yes. Anonymous sex. Steve is kicking it off with a bang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GODDAMMIT STEBE THAT SHOULD BE TONY
> 
> Although I should add that the first stirrings of tony and stebe's relationship are coming up pretty soon so dw. They should be at the pre-slash stage by the end of part five, maybe? Ready to head on into slash for part six. Maybe seven. Look, if you made it this far, there's not long left to go, basically. I mean, there's a lot left to go, but not as much in comparison to the rest. I should finish part five this week. I'm going to stop talking now.


	74. Chapter 74

Tony wakes up hungover.

What a fucking surprise.

So what does he have today? He needs to finalise the suit plan. That's all. Take it one step at a time, don't stress yourself out, you'll make it worse.

He has some more vodka for breakfast, just to get him going. He's doing it again, he's doing that thing where he substitutes food for drink and he can't bear to got an hour without topping up. He'll be drunk by midday, and he's hoping to stay that way.

"Tony." Natasha says, nodding at him in the corridor. "Did you have a nice night?"

I sat in my bed and drank until I was drunk. I fell asleep at eight. It was fun, he thinks. Outwardly, he ignores her.

"We have a lead on your intel."

"Oh?"

"Steve and Clint say they were propositioned by a guy, Paul Carbonell. That mean anything to you?"

Tony blinks. "You're shitting me."

"I'm not. He says he doesn't want to release the tech, that he's just holding it for you. That he hopes one day you'll return the favour."

Tony swallows and makes his way to the main kitchen. "And he said that? That his name was definitely Carbonell?"

"He said he was your cousin."

Tony hiccups. "Shit."

"Tony, we haven't got a full read on this guy. But for now we think your intel is safe."

Tony blinks. "Are you sure?" He asks, voice wavering slightly.

"I'm... sure-ish."

Tony looks at her, scrubs a hand over his hair. "Because, because that would be a massive fucking help, you know? They're, they're playing a documentary about me tomorrow, did you know that? It's supposed to prime time viewing. The lawyers couldn't block it. I'm fucked. I just," he shakes his head. "Whatever. That, it's good to know. Thanks, for not screwing this one up."

"Thank Steve."

"Thank Steve for what?" The Captain says, waltzing through the door. "Oh hey, Tony."

"Cap." He yawns, waving a hand slightly.

"Fun night last night?" Natasha asks, eyebrow arched.

Steve clears his throat. "Yeah." He says. "Yeah. Happy, h-happy new year."

"Mmm," Natasha says, and then she leans close "Steve had a lady friend round last night."

Tony looks up. "Oh?"

"That's not." Steve attempts to butter some toast, massacring it in the process. "It wasn't like that."

Tony's eyes brighten. "One night stand? Captain! You paragon of virtue, you. What happened?"

"I've been corrupted." He says succinctly.

"I'll say." Tony snorts. "Put the coffee on? I should have some coffee."

Steve looks at him appraisingly. "Could I force you to have some toast?"

Tony considers. "One slice, maybe."

Steve visibly preens and Tony almost rolls his eyes. He thinks the guy gets off on being helpful.

"So who's the lucky lady?" Natasha says, flicking through a tablet.

"Ah." Steve says.

"Ah?" Tony answers.

"I'm not entirely clear on that. Her name may have gotten lost, somewhere."

"In between your passionate love-making? Steve Rogers, you scoundrel." Tony says, dead-pan.

"This is new." Natasha says. "What brought this about?"

"Oh, you know." Steve says. "I just. Felt like it."

Tony looks at Natasha, and for the first time, they share a brief look of solidarity. "Sure, Stevie." Tony yawns.

"Steve?" The voice comes down the hall. "Are you making breakfast."

Tony looks up.

"Uh," Steve's elbow flips the knife off the table "shit." He mutters. "Coming!"

"Are you down here?" 

That's not, Tony's not, it can't be --

"I'm just," he fumbles with the toast. "I'm nearly ready."

"It's fine," she says "I think I -- "

Tony blinks.

Whitney stares.

There's a sudden, extremely awkward, void opening across the room. So shockingly filled with tension that even Steve feels it, and turns.

He looks at Tony, and then at Whitney. And then he slumps. "Oh God," he says "you know each other. Of course you do."

Whitney swallows. "Hi, Anty."

Tony, strangely, looks straight at Natasha. He narrows his eyes. Then, back to Steve.

"What is this?" He murmurs. "Did you do this on purpose?"

Steve shakes his head. "Tony, I don't know her."

Tony's gaze sharpens, and he swings back to Whit. "You know I live here. You know that. Don't pretend you're shocked to see me."

"You're in Thailand." She says "We were all told you were in Thailand with Potts."

"Well I'm not." Tony says brusquely.

"Oh, I see that now."

Any of Whitney's soft tone has disappeared, and they're right back where they left it, twenty-three years ago.

"So what, you just decided you were going to sleep with Captain America? You thought that would float your boat? And you knew this was my tower?"

"God, Tony, you can't talk. I thought tall blondes were your area."

"That's low."

"I know. I heard what happened. There's only so many times I can say I told you so."

"You're sounding awfully bitter, Whit. What's wrong?"

"Why would something be wrong?"

"Just a bit off, really, that you would turn up here. Now. After all these years."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Figure it out." Tony hisses, snatching his coffee. "I'm going. I have work to do. Have fun, Steve. I didn't know you were into older women."

He chugs down the hot liquid then leaves the mug on the table, drags his hand across his mouth. "Get out my way." He snarls.

Whitney narrows her eyes. "No. No, I want to talk to you."

"Of course you do, that's why you're here."

"Tony," Natasha says "Tony, calm down. Who is she."

Tony turns. Blinks. Who is she? What does he say?

"Ex."

Steve groans. "Oh God." He says says despairingly. "Christ, I slept with Tony Stark's ex, all the women in the world and I slept with -- "

"Ex?" Whitney spits. "Four years and a childhood spent picking glue out of your hair and all I get is ex?"

"Oh I'm sorry," Tony says, politely. "This is Whitney, we dated for a while, and then split up, only to go on to twenty-three years of absolute silence. Now, she's decided to come back, probably because she wants something from me." Tony pauses. "You do want something from me, don't you darling?"

Whitney takes in each face in the the room. And then she smiles.

"Anty."

"Gigi."

It's so easy to just draw her back into his arms, to smile into her hair. Twenty-three years and counting and she's barely aged a day.

When did they get so old?

"I'm sorry," she murmurs into his ear "God, Tony, you've been -- I wanted to get in touch, after Afghanistan, but I thought... I don't know. I don't know. But we're here, now."

"Where did you go?" Tony demands, drawing back. "You disappeared. I tried to find you, after the funeral, but you were gone."

"I should have stayed," she says "I should have stayed for that. It was cruel, just leaving you. I was angry."

Tony sighs. "Well, if our positions were reversed I'd do the same."

Whitney meets Steve's eyes across the room. "Sorry." She says.

Steve exhales. "Yeah," he says "no problem. Glad I could be of help."

She turns back to Tony. "Come to dinner with me."

"I can't."

"Why not? Girlfriend busting your balls?"

"She's not. We're no longer together."

Whitney draws back. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"But you -- "

"Were engaged, yes."

Whitney swallows. "What, did you cheat on her?"

"I try not to make a habit of that."

"Except in extreme circumstances."

"Obviously." Tony says, regretfully.

There's tension singing behind his back. He clears his throat.

"And I'm not sure if, if you watch the news." He says. "But I'm not the world's number one favourite guy at the moment."

"Fuck them." Whitney says. "Fuck them, what do they know?"

"Quite a bit, apparently."

Natasha makes a small noise behind him. "I think we'll leave you to talk." She says delicately.

Tony blinks. He almost wants to beg them to stay. He feels a bit like the boy he was, scared to face Whit, knowing he'd been caught out.

"Yeah," he says "yeah. We should, we should talk."

"What work did you have for today?"

"I was finalising the suit."

"How long will that take?"

"I'll stay up later, it's fine. Hell, maybe I'll delay it, who knows."

Tony rubs his face, and Whitney raises an eyebrow, watches them leave. "She telling you what to do?"

"I'm a fucking mess, Whit. A mess. I, I kinda need that, right now."

Whitney looks at him. Tucks a piece of his hair delicately behind his ear. "You need a haircut."

Tony leans back, slightly, instinctively. He's not used to this, he's not used to the touching. Pepper used to do that, but no one else, and Pepper's gone now, anyway, so --

Oh, God, there it is. That's it. The feeling of crushing loneliness and futility. 

"Yeah, well." He swallows. "I'm not really, I haven't been going anywhere."

Whitney's eyes harden. "She left you, didn't she?"

Tony nods.

"Why?"

He moves over to the table, sits. Runs a hand through his hair. "I think... I think there were a few reasons."

"Tell me."

Tony looks at her. God, her eyes look pitying. She's pitying him. Does he seem that pathetic?

"I had, Whit, a lot has changed."

"I know that."

"This thing I do, this, saving people. Do you ever think, why? I mean, do you ever remember me, as I was, back in Boston, and then wonder how I got here?"

She thinks. "It's hard to match the two."

"Right," Tony says "I mean, back then, I was going to be a businessman. I never thought I would, God, that I would be kidnapped. I never, ever thought for a second that I would be tortured. That I would fly into space. Eat lunch with Captain America. I don't know where my life's gone and I don't know where it's going."

"And she couldn't handle it?"

"Not exactly. I -- I have nightmares."

"You've always had nightmares."

"Worse." He says. "Some nights, I just, I wake up screaming. You know in films where the soldier wakes up screaming? That's me. That's what I've become."

"She left you because you were disturbing her sleep pattern?"

"No. Last Christmas, I mean, you saw. With the president, right?"

"Potts was taken hostage."

"Yeah. And," Tony swallows "they did something to her. And before that, it was me, and it was my problems, and after, well, we were both so damaged."

"I thought you would be able to take comfort in that?"

"No. She needs someone who can give her more, I think. And she kept trying to help me. But I was getting worse, and I got rid of my suits. I don't know. Somewhere, obviously, there was a... miscommunication."

"You can't catch a break, can you."

Tony doesn't know why he's telling her this. Maybe it's because for so many years she was his only friend and now no one else wants to hear.

"Somedays," he says "somedays, I, I don't know. It makes you wonder what the point is, exactly."

"Shut up," Whitney says fiercely. "Not this again, Tony."

"Well it's true," he says dully "I thought, I had Pepper, and I was happy. And I had Iron Man, and I had a purpose. And now -- " suddenly, it's too much. He swallows, ducks his head. "I don't know. Now I'm, I'm alone, and the world hates me, and there's nothing left to live for. Fuck the future. I don't give a damn."

Whitney sits there for a long time, staring at her hands. 

Tony doesn't speak.

"You've always been such a pessimist." She says eventually.

"No, I've always been a realist. Always. If anything, I try too hard to see good in people. Inevitably, I am disappointed."

"No one is always good all the time. Those people don't exist."

"Of course they don't; I'm being picky. Whit, I'm the problem. I've never been able to keep someone down, I always fuck it up. I fucked you up, I fucked Ty up. Ru, Pep. Everyone in between."

"Has anyone told you to get help?"

"Multiple times."

"Okay," Whit says slowly "Tony, do you remember the last time you had a lot of people telling you to get help?"

"That was different."

"No." Whit says carefully. "It wasn't. And it ended pretty badly for you."

"Why are you here?" Tony says, suddenly. "You just, what, wanted a chat? Twenty-three years and you just turn up at my door?"

"Not exactly."

"I see."

Whitney covers her face with her hands. "Oh God."

"What is it?" Tony asks, softly.

"I can't," Whit looks up "I can't, now. I feel awful, asking you, God, you've already got too much on your plate."

"Gigi." Tony says warningly.

She looks up. "Well there's no easy way to say this."

"But?"

"I'm in debt."

"Ah."

"Masses of -- masses and masses of debt."

"Can I ask why?"

"After I graduated I kind of... left. Went travelling. Got married. Took him for everything in the divorce. And when I got home, my dad wasn't very happy."

"I heard he died."

"A few years back. So, I decided to do what I've always been meaning to."

"Oh, Gigi." Tony says softly.

"I got in touch with my dad. My real dad, the biological one."

"I know which one."

"You know, I never remembered much about him. Flashes, here and there."

"The party."

"Right. That. But he, you know. He is my dad."

"Is? Is? Are you -- are you still seeing him?"

Whitney bites her lip. "He said he needed money."

"And you gave him everything?"

"And more. I ended up borrowing from a rival."

"You borrowed money from your father's rival in order to get him money? Doesn't that defeat the purpose?"

"Kind of a catch 22. But Paul was so reasonable."

Tony pauses. "Paul."

"That was, that is his name, yes."

"And, Paul was at this party last night."

"He was."

"And Paul is, Paul is the man who -- my God, you have a type, don't you?"

"You're my type. But like I said, Paul was so reasonable. And he made sense. And my dad... he's a bit of a dick."

Tony shakes his head. "I just need to get this straight. I need to get all of this straight, is there some paper in here? You don't have a pen by any chance?"

Tony rummages around the draws, pulls out a napkin and picks up Steve's crossword pen. "Right," he says "so just to clear things up."

"We have Paul," he says, scribbling. "Who is my cousin."

"Ah."

"Yeah. So that's thing that's happening. And we know that -- " Tony pauses. "We know that your father killed his uncle."

"Your uncle."

"An uncle."

"Right." Whitney clarifies. "So Paul and dad aren't friends."

"And your dad wanted money from you," Tony blots coffee with the napkin "so you got it from Paul, his rival."

"And now I owe Paul."

"But?"

"But I'm also fucked, because as you can imagine, my dad wasn't thrilled."

"So you're literally being screwed on both ends. Okay. Okay. Wow, it's just like old times."

"Funny, Tony."

"Paul has my intelligence, but says he's 'safekeeping' it. You owe Paul money. Oh God. I'm going to have to talk to him."

Whitney bites her lip. "He's not going to let it slide."

Tony looks at her. "Are you sleeping with him?" He blurts.

"We were together."

"What happened to your degree?"

"What?"

"Your major. Law, you did law at Harvard. What happened?"

Whit just looks at him sadly.

Tony's mom once told him not to trust her, because of what her family did. At the time, Tony had shrugged her off; just because your parents do one thing doesn't mean you will, too.

But it's difficult, Tony realises. He's more like his father everyday. And Whitney is the same.

"So," Tony says, rubbing his eyes. "Okay."

Whitney nods. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry," Tony blurts. "I'm sorry, about what happened."

"We were kids."

"Maybe. It didn't feel that way."

"I don't blame you. You never really got a chance to grow up."

"You don't mean that." Tony says softly.

"I do. I remember watching drink down a can of beer when we were nine years old. You were still wearing footie pyjamas, and you left for college five years later."

"That's no one's fault."

"It's someone's fault. It's everyone's fault. You were a kid, and no one cared." Whitney blinks. "Say, you don't think we could sue Harwell?"

"Cute, Whit."

"I mean it. On neglect grounds. We can say they fucked you up. Fucked us both up. Come on, we can get some others into it. I bet it would be enough to cover the debt."

"Country's most prestigious school admits to nurturing emotionally stunted future leaders. That'll make a great headline."

"When you think about it, it explains so much."

Tony snorts. And then rubs his temples. "I have so much work to do." He sighs.

"Some things never change."

Tony stands and makes his way to the cabinet. He must have some aspirin in here somewhere, someone must keep -- oh, there -- wait, no. No, those are just the pills he never took.

Tony sighs again. Pops one out, and takes it down.

"What's that?" Whitney asks.

"Aspirin." Tony lies.

"How hungover are you?"

"I am caught in a state of perpetual drunkness."

Whitney looks at him. And then looks back at the napkin with the notes.

"So will the Captain be pissed at me?"

"I can't believe you slept with him."

Tony slips himself another pill. Two will be enough.

"I needed to see you."

"You could've just called."

"You're on lockdown, Tony. No one's getting through to you."

He rubs his forehead. "Yeah," he says. "Right. Well you should leave a number." He says abruptly.

Whitney blinks. "What, that's it?"

"I have work to do."

"We haven't seen each other in years!"

"I know," Tony says, wincing, because he's fucking this up too, he fucks up everything he gets close to. "I know. Uh. Please, just leave a number. Or better yet, take mine. Make sure you call me because I... I forget, sometimes."

"I know." Whitney says, smirking.

Tony tries to smile but he feels really fucking awful. So he just hangs his head.

Whitney stands, and she's wearing Steve's big dress shirt. Christ, she's still so small. Too small. It dwarfs her.

She hugs him. He draws away.

"Oh God you smell like Steve."

"Let it go, Anty."

He draws her back in. "Call."

"I will."

"Yeah, but -- actually call. I could do with, it would be nice. We could do dinner."

"Dinner." Whitney agrees. "Italian."

"Not Italian. Something -- sushi. Let's do sushi."

"Sushi it is."

"Cool."

"Are you going to... let go of me?"

Tony sighs, and pulls back. Whitney frowns.

"You need a shave."

"Right."

She kisses his cheek, once, then pads off. Looks over her shoulder and waves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'LLLLLL NEVVER BEEE THE SAAAAMEE (if we ever meet again) WOOOOOON'T LETT YOU GETTT AWAAAAYYY unless you're whitney in which case I'll subtly try to ignore you and pretend you don't exist in the hopes you don't tell everybody I used to be a crack addict IFF WE EVER MEEET AGAIN


	75. Chapter 75

"Tony," Steve calls "Tony, wait."

Steve watches as the other man turns, smiles. He waves, slightly. "Hi, Steve."

He catches up. "Tony? Tony, what was that?"

"That? Oh, that, that was Whit."

"You're going to have to elaborate."

"We were friends when we were kids -- look, don't worry about it."

Tony is working. Tucked under his arm are folded papers, blueprints. "Is that -- "

"I finished the suit." Tony grins. "I did it all. Not even lunch yet. Who knows, I might even get to relax."

"You seem happy."

Tony sucks in a deep breath, exhales slowly. "Yeah," he says "I am a bit."

Steve smiles. "Good. That's good."

Tony blinks at him. "Do you want to see?"

"See...?"

"The suit. Do you want to see it?"

Steve shrugs. He doesn't mind. It'll probably go over his head, but it's always good to know stuff like this.

Tony grins, leading him down the corridor to the coffee table in the living room. "Look," he says, laying out the papers "look, it's, well, it's based of the mark 42, structurally, but I haven't, I'm not bothering with the implants, they were a mess from start to finish. It's pretty cool. Don't you think?"

"Yeah." Steve says, blown away by Tony's rapid-fire chatter. "Yeah, it's, it's great."

Tony giggles. "It's got a built in arc, because obviously, you know, that doesn't come with me anymore. But I reckon if I use the adamantanium I can get it faster than ever before, because, it's like this different compound of -- "

And he's off. Steve tries to listen politely, but Tony keeps splurging off onto different topics. It's hard to keep up, or even listen.

But he seems happy. And he and Tony, they're not close. They're not, but Steve knows enough to see when a man is on the edge. So he humours him.

"Do you understand?" Tony asks, breathless. "Is it good? Tell me it's good." He grabs Steve by the shoulders, shakes him a little. "C'mon, Cap. You know it is."

"It's, it's good, Tony."

The man laughs, and pulls Steve in for a hug, a sudden very shocking, very tight hug. "Yes." He crows. "Yes, I knew it. This is what I do, you know? It's what I'm good at."

"You're very good at this."

Tony takes his cheeks in his hands and plants a kiss on his lips. 

Steve blinks.

Tony pulls back, grinning. "I'll see you around, Stevie."

"Yeah," Steve says weakly, watching him go. "See you."

Oh God.

Oh no.

No. Nope, come on. Oh come on, that's not fair.

That's not fair. Steve didn't, he spent last night with a beautiful woman, fuck, that should have satisfied him why now --

The truth is, the unavoidable truth, is that this is the first time Steve has kissed a man in seventy years.

And although his mind is very much not down with it, the stirring in his groin totally is.

"Fuck." He hisses. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

It's not that he's bothered by the fact his body is so in to men.

It's that it's so in to Tony.

Steve can tell, objectively, that Tony is an attractive man. And he has always admired the male physique. He's seen Tony fresh from the shower, Tony with sweat slick skin, maybe even briefly indulged in a day dream or two, just to try it out.

But at the end of the day, Tony Stark is a different man.

Tony Stark is not Howard.

He sees bits of him in the way Tony moves. In a face he might pull when angry, confused, tired. That look, where he stares disparagingly at anyone in his sight.

Other things. The way he drinks. Howard had always liked a good drink. A good time. That's what Howard liked. Tony does, too, or at least he used to. Now he's busy busy busy. Just like Howie at war. Although Howard always made time for his own pleasure.

Steve had not loved Howard. Liked him, a lot. Sometimes he was too much to handle. But they had been good friends, towards the end. In between times, when Steve was home, or at the camps, Howard would be there. His weapons saved Steve's life. He still carries the shield he made.

So he doesn't want to think of Tony like that. Not at all. It feels wrong. What would Howard say, if he were alive? God, he's probably skin him. Steve can't imagine what he'd do if he found out that Captain America was lusting after his son.

But Howard had been a good man. Temperamental, difficult, yes. But you would put up with it, for that genius.

Tony is different.

He's so much louder, yet so much more reserved. Howard, when he talked, believed in what he was saying. Steve doesn't feel that with Tony. Can't feel it. Everything he says is a lie, or false, twisted and manipulated. It's difficult to understand him, exactly.

Difficult to trust him.

He's a good man. Steve knows that. He risked his life to save them all. And that counts for a lot. Steve won't discount it.

He just --

Tony isn't for him. Can never be for him. Maybe one day Steve will find a man he likes. Maybe not. It doesn't matter. He's young, kinda. He has plenty of time. And Tony's old. Older. And clever. And rich. Busy. Wouldn't want someone like Steve. And of course, there's that part where he is literally the straightest person Steve knows. So.

But in a world like this.

No one cares, anymore. I mean, some people do. If he announced to the world that he likes putting his lovestick into other men's assholes it might cause a bit of a stir. But for the most part, no one cares. At least, it's not legal to lynch him anymore.

Tony is a friend. Kinda a friend. They're definitely acquaintances. Steve should work on the whole friendship thing. If they're friends, he definitely can't want to screw him. You don't fuck your friends.

Except for that one time.

For the most part, he's worried about the man. Tony seems... erratic. Was he always erratic? Steve doesn't know him so well. He remembers, back on the helicarrier, Tony has seemed put together. Crazy, yes. But not manic.

And then Whitney. Steve sighs, loudly. Well wasn't that a fucking disaster? Lesson learnt for him, really. Don't fuck with people you haven't known for at least a week.

But who is she? Why is she here? Tony has seemed -- well, resentful. But then happy. And now, maniacal.

Steve's no one to tell him what to do. He knows Natasha's worried. He knows that there's stress, at the moment. He knows that Potts left him, and sent the ring back in the post. He knows that that's harsh.

He also reckons that Tony's a strong guy. That he's put up with this before. But he thinks that maybe, this time, it's different. He's older. The media is hounding him. His girlfriend's left him, he's working too hard, drinking too much. He doesn't know what to do, how to make it better. There are probably days he wonders why he's here at all. Erratic highs and despondent lows. Steve would know.

He's been there.

But who would he be if he didn't help? Can he watch Tony Stark disintegrate?

Howard's son? Can he watch that happen, and do nothing, simply because they don't know each other that well?

If you saw a man stuck behind the wheel of a car accident, you would help. You would call an ambulance. The same applies here.

The kiss means nothing. Just a sign of Tony's high mood. It was nothing.

But Steve will help. Make a friend. He'll force Tony to like him, if it's the last thing he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> steve: NO HOMO  
> tony: a lil' bit homo?


	76. Chapter 76

This doesn't fucking make sense.

Tony runs the equation again and again and again. Fuck NASA they're wrong. He knows they're fucking wrong, because he's right. He's just better than them, cleverer. NASA are full of idiots.

And they've got this wrong.

Tony's pen rips across the page, tearing a hole in the thin paper. He gives a high noise of frustration, scratching at the paper until it crumples, pushing it the ground.

He clenches his fists until his nails dig into his palm and slaps them against the desk. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This doesn't fucking -- why doesn't it work? Why won't it work? Tony needs, he just wants to understand and this doesn't work, none of his equations work. He's living in an impossible universe, it's impossible and he can't explain it and he doesn't know how to make everything fall into order.

It's driving him crazy.

What Pepper didn't understand, what none of them understand, is that Tony is a genius. He's always been a genius, and this, this can't evade him, he doesn't, he can't, he's right, they're wrong, this is --

God, what is he saying? He just wants to understand. Just wants to put some order in things. Why is he here? Why do humans exist? Are they bacteria? Tony looks at trees and all he can think is how similar they look to eyelashes blown up under a microscope. He looks at leaves and he sees dead skin cells. He stares at universes and stars and sees the same spiral in the shell of a snail.

It's impossible, and nothing makes sense.

So he gets drunk. Tears at his math. He should ask Bruce, hell, he should ask Thor. Anyone. Everyone. Someone must have an answer. There must be some answer to what he saw.

There must be. There has to be. Tony doesn't have anything else.

Pepper left him. Why'd she have to do that? Was he that bad? He's sorry. Maybe it's a disease. A Tony disease. He's just, no one really likes him. No one's ever liked him. He had two friends his whole life and then they ditched him, and his only other pal's gone off with his new girlfriend. The love of his life left him. His parents never cared. He's diseased. Everything that comes out of his mouth pushes people away.

With that in mind, he takes a crowbar to his new suit. It spent two days in manufacturing but now he realises it's stupid. The world doesn't need Iron Man when they hate Tony Stark, not when they have Captain America, Thor, and the Incredible Hulk.

Everyone hates him. Everyone thinks he's a terrorist. If Tony ever had anything, it was the love of the crowd. Now, that's gone too.

God, he's such a mess. He fucking hates this. Hates himself.

He always has, really. Tony remembers days when he couldn't get out of bed. Remembers, before that, sitting silently in corners, hoping no one would talk to him. And secretly hoping that someone would.

God, he's always been a mess, hasn't he?

Pepper was right. He needs help. He thinks this might be some kind of psychotic break. It's the last thing he needs.

They're showing another documentary on him tonight. His lawyers can't block them. They get worse, and worse. He has journalists yapping at his feet for interviews, statements. There's talk of a book.

Tony doesn't want a book. He wants friends, and some mental stability.

Whitney. He could always ask Whitney. He's paying her debt, the least she can do is pretend to like him. Give him someone to talk to.

That's the worst part. There are five people up there. Five normal-ish people. People who, most likely, would understand. Kinda care. Who maybe wouldn't judge.

But this isn't about that. It's not about PTSD or nightmares or insanity inducing attempts at figuring out the universe. It's about the fact that he, Tony Stark, doesn't get on great with people. Because Natasha sold him out, and Steve hates him, and Bruce is, well, he doesn't want to bother him. Thor is -- quite literally -- an alien. He's alone. Five people, all living, breathing people, and he can't talk to them at all.

He feels like an intruder. When they play their poker or when they drink, he feels like an intruder. And he hates that. He doesn't -- does he even really want to be with them? Maybe he's just desperate, because he doesn't want to die alone.

Tony slumps, rocks back in his chair. Tips the bottle back, and drinks. God, he hates himself. Hates this world.

"Tony?"

Tony chokes, coughing, empty bottle rolling to the ground. His eyes burn as the alcohol works it's way back up his throat.

"Steve," he croaks "what, why -- "

"Are you... busy?" Steve asks, looking around his little room. "I can come back later."

"No," Tony says, rubbing his head. "Uh, stay."

Steve smiles, stands awkwardly in the doorway of Tony's little cubby. "I've never been down here before." He says conversationally.

Tony swallows. "Yeah."

Steve looks at him. "Are you sure this is alright? I don't want to impose."

Tony clears his throat. "Do you, uh," he swallows again "do you want something."

"No," Steve says easily "just wanted a chat."

Tony watches suspiciously as draws out the seat opposite Tony's desk and sits, crosses his legs.

The metronome on Tony's desk ticks on in the silence.

"What do you want." Tony says eventually.

"Play chess with me."

Tony blinks. "What?"

"Do you play?"

"Chess?"

"Yeah."

"Of course I play chess." Tony scoffs.

"Then play with me."

Tony gives him a withering look. "Steve, I beat the MIT chess champion four years in a row."

"Try me."

Tony looks at him. Snorts. "Yeah whatever." He says eventually.

Steve smiles. "That's the spirit."

"That's the spirit." Tony mimics. "Jesus F. Christ, what am I doing."

"Sit." Steve says, and he leaves, only to return with a set.

"You brought it with you." Tony accuses.

"I knew you wouldn't turn down a challenge."

Tony looks at him. "You don't know me that well, then."

Steve sets out the pieces. "You'll be white?"

"Black. I like the challenge."

Steve laughs.

"I imagine you don't often have partners who can beat you."

"I've never been beaten."

"Oh?" Steve says with a half smile.

"What," Tony says "you think you can beat me?"

Steve shrugs. "Maybe not today. But yeah."

This actually gets a smile out of him. Tony cracks his knuckles. "Fine. Simple $50 I win?"

"I only gamble with my life, never with my money."

Tony laughs. "That's funny, Captain. That's actually funny."

There's something bitter in Tony's voice, acrid. His pupils are blown and his fingers tremble.

Steve smiles, and keeps his eyes trained on Tony. "So," he says "what is it you're working on down here."

Tony pauses, looks up. "The universe."

"I see."

Tony shifts in his seat. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm crazy. I'm not. I'm bored, and little bit drunk, so yes. Trying to decipher the universe seems like a good idea."

"Where are you up to?"

"None of it makes sense and life is futile. Your turn."

Steve moves his pawn. "So. Whitney. Crazy girl."

"You wouldn't believe."

"You were friends."

Tony pauses, thinks. Moves his piece, then leans back. "We grew up together."

"Was she a friend of your father's?"

"School. We went to school together. Until I left, obviously. Then she joined me up in Boston."

"You went to MIT."

"The one and only."

"How old were you?"

Tony smirks. "Fifteen."

Steve shakes his head. "Well. That must've been fun."

Tony makes a face. "Not really. Your move."

Steve shifts. "You seem tense."

Tony swallows. "Yeah."

Steve leans back. "Look, man, I'm sorry about Potts."

Tony looks down. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever. Just." He shakes his head. "I don't want to talk about it."

"It came out of nowhere. We were all so surprised, you seemed so happy."

Tony's eyes flick up, and for a second Steve thinks he's gone too far. But then his eyes sadden. "I think, I think you of all people know how it goes," Tony says, moving his piece "or at least, you'd understand. I was... damaged. It was difficult. And then she was, too. She was tortured, you know, that's on me. And," Tony bites his lip. "You know, she was. She was pregnant, when she fell. And Extremis burnt it out of her. So."

"Jesus. I didn't know."

"She was angry. Not with me, but with... something. She should have been angry with me, but she was too nice for that. Cared too much."

"But she was hurt."

"Sometimes I worry," Tony looks down. "Yeah. Sometimes I worry beyond repair. I broke the love of my life. It hasn't been a great year." Tony frowns. "Sorry, I. I don't know why I'm telling you this."

"No, no," Steve says quickly "it's okay."

"Do you mind if I smoke?"

Steve raises an eyebrow. "You smoke?"

"Yeah well, I stopped. But then everything started getting a bit too much."

Steve shrugs. "Sure." It'll be like the camp, almost. Playing poker with cheap alcohol and old cigars. He watches Tony get out a pack, expensive probably, flick on into his mouth, and light up.

He drags, and sighs.

Rubs his eyes with the smoke caught between his fingers.

"You know it's bad for you."

"Steve in this line of work lung cancer isn't going to be what kills me." He looks at Steve's face. "Oh come on. You're not against smoking, are you? Mr World War II?"

"Firstly, you're an ass," Steve says, and he takes the cigarette from Tony's hand "secondly, I believe that if you're healthy, you should try to stay that way." He takes a long drag.

Tony's eyes light up. "Yeah, well you would, wouldn't you. And, for the record, I'm not healthy, so put that in your pipe and smoke it." He takes back his cigarette.

"You're not?"

Tony waves a hand. "My liver's probably gonna conk out soon. My heart keeps missing a beat. It's not, it's not serious. But it keeps fluttering."

"Jesus, Stark, go to a doctor."

"I did. Nothing they can do. There's not exactly a science dedicated to the effects of arc reactor tech on the human heart."

"Are you dying?"

"Everyone's dying."

"Cute. I'm serious."

Tony takes a long, deep, breath. Blows out smoke. "No." He answers. "I'm not. It's nothing a healthy diet and exercise won't fix. Fuck, knowing my luck I'll end up outliving all of you."

"And wouldn't that just be awful."

"Alone in my tower while everyone I know dies."

"Kinda like me."

"Yeah," Tony says. "Kinda. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

Tony looks down at the board and rubs his forehead. "God," he sighs. "I don't know. I need to get myself into gear."

"You need to release a statement."

"Excuse me?"

Steve moves a piece. "A statement." He says. "To the press. It's been a week. Two documentaries and a dozen of slanderous articles down and it's time for you to say something."

"It doesn't matter what I say," Tony says "my time's over, understand? There's no getting back from this."

"You're not actually a terrorist."

Tony holds his breath.

Steve blinks. "You're... you're not actually a terrorist, are you?"

Tony frowns. "What? Of course not. No. I was just -- HYRDA, Steve. HYDRA. How far does it go? When I was a kid, I did some stupid stuff. And HYDRA has that information."

"How stupid?"

"Inordinately. It wouldn't take much for someone to start probing. And the next thing you know," Tony shakes his head. "I did some very un-american things."

"I see."

"Yeah. And I mean, Obie was the one who -- he knew all of it? So. That's all on there, somewhere. In that database you released."

"And you covered up his death."

"Exactly."

"It looks suspicious."

"I'm fucked."

"Tony, you need to get a hold of it."

"I don't know what to do." He admits, and his voice crackles. He sucks in a breath. "I just," he shakes his head "I don't know what to do. There's no way out."

Steve moves the board aside. "Have you got paper?"

"Why?"

"Just get me some paper. And a pen."

Tony reaches into his desk and draws out a sheet. "Right," Steve says. "Okay. So here's what we're going to do." He scratches the pen until the ink runs and draws a number one at the top of the page.

"You're going to get a publicist."

"I have a publicist."

"You're going to get a good publicist. We all are, because we're going to be a team."

"Wait what?"

"I wasn't joking, before. The world needs us, so we're going to give them what they want. There. Already, boom, automatic hero points."

Tony smiles.

"So, one, publicist, two, team. What's next, Captain?"

"Three, you're going to have Jarvis trawl through whatever it is exactly I released online. You're going to have him pick up every bit of dirt you have before the press catches it."

"That's easier said than done."

"Just do it. Fourth, you're going to talk to a journalist, someone you trust, and, hear me out on this one, you're going to get a biography."

"That's crazy."

"Listen. You get your word out before anyone else, on your own terms. You, you give all the proceeds to charity. You say the dirt's going to come out either way? Then you do it. Turn it into a sob story. People love those! I'd read it!"

"Steve, this is," Tony pushes the paper away "this won't work."

"Five, release a statement. Get up onto a podium, and say something. Anything. Just enough to hold them off, for a little while."

Tony looks at Steve. His smile is sad. "I appreciate the help, Cap." He says "But I think I -- " He chokes off, clears his throat. "I don't know."

"You can't be like this, Tony. It'll get worse."

Tony looks up. "What?"

"The more you stay in bed, the harder it is to leave. I know."

Tony's eyes narrow. "What are you saying, Cap?"

"You know what I'm saying."

"Yeah well I don't care for it." Tony says, standing. "I'm not, I'm not some crazy person, Steve. What you think," Tony scoffs "you think I'm depressed? You think that's it? I don't, my girlfriend breaks up with me and I must be, you don't, you don't know anything."

"Your burning a hole in your shirt."

"Shit." Tony gasps, stubbing the cigarette out onto the desk and examining the red patch of skin on his hipbone.

Steve lets him flap about, and picks delicately at one of the pieces of paper on the floor. "Did you draw this?"

"It's not a drawing."

Steve raises his eyebrows. "It looks like one."

Tony snatches it out of his hand. "It's a complex equation based on the trajectory of our solar system to -- oh, never mind." 

"It's beautiful."

"It's not art, Steve. It's science."

"Can't they be the same thing?"

"Don't get fancy with me, Captain."

Steve smiles. "So it means a lot to you, then. The universe."

Tony slumps back into his seat. "Steve, you have no idea."

"You could try and explain."

Tony looks up. His eyes meet Steve's, and he sees something weak inside of them.

"I don't know what I saw." Tony says, voice drawn.

"You mean," Steve says, voice hushed "in the wormhole?"

Tony nods. Swallows. "I don't understand."

"What did you see?"

Tony's never told anyone this, although people have asked. What was it like, up in space?

"It was awful," Tony answers, voice dead. "It was dark. I couldn't breathe. That's the worst way to die. And I had a nuke on my back. And I threw it. And saw -- I saw a world die. That's what it felt like."

"Even though they were your enemy?"

Tony shivers. "Having that responsibility, doing -- Steve I can't -- "

He fists his hands in his hair, sucks in a deep breath. "Oh god," he groans.

"Don't," Steve says "stop, don't tell me. It's okay."

"Do you see?" Tony says, looking up "Do you see why she left me? Wouldn't you? I can't even, I can't talk about it without shutting down."

"It's normal."

"For survivors, for soldiers. I don't want to be a soldier, or a survivor, or a hero. I just want to be me, and do my job, and be happy."

God, he sounds like he's having a mid-life crisis.

"You can't do that, Tony."

"No shit." He says brusquely, standing. "Well this was fun."

"You're leaving?"

"Obviously you're not going to go. I have a meeting to attend."

"It's nearly midnight."

"A good as time as any. It's a family affair."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmm a faMILY AFFAIR
> 
> Also, and if you don't want spoilers, STOP READING NOW, how believable do you think it would be for a middle-aged man to suddenly develop a stammer after a nervous breakdown this isn't about Tony I'm just asking for a friend who's, uh, writing a 300,000 fanfic about his life it's definitely not me.


	77. Chapter 77

Tony arrives at the Long Island mansion sometime after 2 am.

It's raining. As he drives up the gravelled road, drop spatter against his window and puddle when the land rover cuts out.

He waits, for a moment, inside the leather interior. Warm. Rubs his eyes, and tugs his coat tighter around his body.

Outside it's freezing, and the rain is torrential. His coat is long, his suit expensive. This is a long standing appointment.

The woman who opens the door has pink hair. Tony almost raises an eyebrow.

"Come in, Mr Stark," she says calmly "he's waiting in the lounge."

The floor is wood, the walls oak panelled. It's all very rich. It smells of candles.

"So you're his, what. Assistant?"

"You seem surprised."

"You're very professional."

"The hair throws people off."

Tony smiles as he takes off his long coat, hands it to her. She folds it over her arm.

Tony doesn't doubt for a second that as soon as he turns his back she'll be rifling through his pockets, trying to find a weapon, a suit key, anything. It's fine. He's unarmed, mostly.

Well, he has a gun strapped to the small of his back. Just in case.

Tony remembers what Whitney said. That he's slippery. That he knows how to lie. Once upon a time, Tony would've taken that with a pinch of salt, but he knows better know.

So he makes his way to the small bar. Why do all rich men have bars? He did, his father did, Obie did. Rich men that all drank too much.

He waits, sips his scotch. It helps warm him.

"Mr Stark?"

Paul is short. Olive skin, dark hair. He has the same eyes his mother had -- large, and rimmed by thick lashes.

He's younger than Tony, maybe, but not by too much. Not young enough that he's inexperienced. Tony's willing to bet that he has a gun stowed on him, too.

"Paul, I assume?"

He smiles, and holds out his hand. "Can I call you Tony?"

"Sure, why not."

They sit, and Paul flicks out a lighter. "You want one?"

"I've been told that if you're healthy, you should try to stay that way."

Paul shrugs. "Suit yourself," he says, taking a deep drag, sighing. "So." He says "I'm guessing this isn't social. What's this for? Frost, or your intel?"

"How about both?"

"I'm safeguarding it for you."

"Great, I don't believe that."

"Tony," Paul says, leaning forward. "I'm not going to touch your pretty suits. There is nothing I could want with them, okay? I'm a good guy."

"Then hand me the intel. Prove it."

"No."

"Why."

"Because," Paul makes a face "I'm sorry. I want something over you."

Tony narrows his eyes. "Bullshit. Who are you working for?"

A flash of irritation. "Why do I have to be working for anybody?"

"Because if you're such a free agent, you would have given me what is mine."

Paul pauses thoughtfully. Blows out smoke. "You know we're cousins?"

Tony's fingers clench. "I was aware."

"That means nothing to you, right?"

"I don't know you."

"Your mother was my aunt."

"Yes, that's how blood relations work."

"Doesn't it interest you?"

"My mother ceased to interest me somewhere around my twelfth birthday."

Paul makes a face. "Oh, very tough. So strong. What a man."

"Don't patronise me. She has nothing to do with this."

"She has everything to do with this."

"Excuse me?"

"Stark, this goes so much deeper than you know."

Tony's eyes flick up. "I don't know what you're referring to."

Paul looks at him. "You mean, you don't know?"

"Don't know what?" Tony says irritably.

"About your mother? Your father? You don't -- Jesus, man, you're forty-four! Did you never bother to go back to the old house?"

"What are you talking about?" Tony says, through grit teeth.

"The butler? That never bothered you, what was his name?"

Tony stares at him, mouth dry. "Jarvis?" He croaks.

"It never bothered you that he disappeared? Why -- "

"He died," Tony interrupts "of AIDS. Back in 1990, 1991, I can't remember. He's not -- what are you saying?" Tony says, standing. "What the hell are you saying?"

"Tony, sit down." Paul says. "I didn't -- I'm sorry, I thought you knew." He looks left and right, leans closer. "Look, Stark, your fath -- "

There's a crash, and then a wet hot spray hitting Tony's face.

Blood. His face is soaked in Paul's blood.

He slumps forward, sees the light leave his eyes. Blinks.

He touches one hand to his face. Sticky.

Paul is dead.

Head shots are generally fatal.

He shoves him to the ground, stumbles to his feet.

"Stay down, Stark."

Tony freezes, slowly turns, raising his hands. The window, the one that leads out onto the courtyard, is broken through, and cold air whips round his ankles, makes him shiver.

"Who are you."

"Hands where we can see them, Mr Stark." The man in the dark mask says "Now."

Tony's hands hover, one twitching to reach the gun hidden in his jacket. Could he do it? Could he reach that fast? It's not --

Something hits him in the back and he hits the ground with a thump that knocks the wind out of him. He's pressed down, someone's weight on top of him, pressing him down, and, yeah, there it is, a hand tugging the gun free from his back and pressing it to the base of spine.

"There," the masked man says "easy. Move and she'll blow your legs off."

Tony lets himself sink to the floor, face inches away from Paul's dead gaze.

"Why'd you kill him?" He croaks.

"We wanted you."

"You didn't have to kill him."

The woman on his back tugs up his head by the hair, and the man crouches. If Tony could see his face, he's sure he'd be smirking.

"You're a difficult man to find nowadays, cooped up in your tower."

"What do you want."

The man's head tilts. And then he kicks him in the face.

The side of Tony's face explodes in dizzying pain, copper flooding his mouth. "Jesus!" He spits, blood rolling from his mouth. He groans.

The man's hand finds his cheek, fingers digging into the cut deep on his cheekbone. Fuck, is it broken? The pain is nauseating, and he fights to keep down his -- alcohol.

The man places his gun onto the floor. Braces his hands on either side of his head.

"We're here to kill you, Mr Stark. I just want to do it with my bare hands." 

Christ, is this how he's going to die? Is this it? After all that? He just --

He's so tired.

One twist, and it's over.

His eyelids flicker.

And then he hears the gun, feels the impact, not of a bullet, but of more blood, blood, blood, hitting his face.

The man crumples. The woman slumps.

He's surrounded by dead bodies. It's like halloween come early, Tony thinks deliriously.

"Tony!" Steve barks "Tony, are you alright -- shit, you're bleeding. Okay, you're bleeding. You're bleeding, where is it, where -- "

"Not my blood." Tony murmurs, rolling, sitting up. "Ah," he hisses, pressing a hand to his cheek.

"Don't touch." Steve snaps "Careful, let me see."

"Get away from me." Tony says, pushing. "What the fuck -- what are you doing here. Did you follow me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you were drunk and ridiculously ambiguous as to where you were going -- okay, that's going to need ice."

Tony blinks, and presses a hand to his cheek. The world sways around him.

"There's a woman out there, they've killed her too -- Tony? Tony, are you listening?"

"He's dead." Tony answers, woozy.

"Yeah he's dead, we need to go, come on."

He tugs Tony up, and he feels his stomach roll, the world tilting. "But he's dead."

"Tony, if you're found at the scene of a murder it's a bunch of trouble you can't be bothered with -- I'll call someone, but you need to move."

"Someone wants me dead."

"Work with me Tony."

He places one foot in front of the other, slumps against Steve's warmth. "My coat," he mumbles "it's very expensive, we shouldn't leave it."

"Get in the car, Tony."

"The car?"

Tony blinks, and he's soaking wet, but inside the interior of his warm rover. He blinks, his wet fingers slipping over the window. He turns, looks at Steve. "I don't understand."

"Don't try to talk, your cheek's all busted. I'm taking you to the hospital."

Tony shakes his head. "I'm fine."

"You're shaking."

"Sorry, I was busy playing a game of pile-on with three dead bodies, yeah I might be a little shaken."

A pause. "Well your head certainly seems alright."

Tony looks out the window as the sleet hits the window. "Who were they?"

"I don't know."

Tony shakes his head. "As if," he spits "as if it wasn't difficult enough."

"We'll get a read on them. They must be affiliated with some group. We'll find out who's after you."

They fall into silence.

Eventually, Tony speaks.

"My dad," he says "did he ever -- did you know anything about him?"

"What do you mean."

Tony's eyes grow distant. "I barely knew him at all, really."

"What's this about, Tony."

"I think... I'm not sure. I don't know. But I'm moving out."

Steve blinks. "What? You can't, you can't do that. We've just got together. We've just made a team."

"I need time to get my head straight." Tony says distantly. "A vacation. I'll give a statement and then I'll move back into the old home."

"The mansion? Tony -- "

"It's so close you'll barely even realise I'm gone."

"Tony, you have people after you. It's not safe."

"I have my suit."

"You scrapped it."

"I'll build it again. People aren't so stupid as to attack me in my own home."

"Why? Why do you need to move?"

Tony pauses. "There are things I need to find out."

 

They spend the rest of the morning in the emergency room.

The nurse winces. "This will need stitches, Mr Stark."

Tony shrugs, and sits still as they thread the needle through his skin.

"Bed-rest, for the shock," the doctor prescribes "and keep that dammed thing iced or you won't be able to see out your eye for the next week."

"There's someone after me," Tony snaps as he and Steve head for the car "and you shot the only damn witness."

Steve stops. "What?"

Tony turns. "What do you mean, 'what'?"

"Tony, I didn't shoot anybody."

Tony blinks. "But -- "

"Tony, I didn't -- I heard the gunshot, and I ran in. I assumed -- "

"But that wasn't me," Tony says, paling. "He had his hands on my head and she was holding me down, I didn't -- "

"Hold on," Steve says "wait. There must have been someone else you missed. You were on the ground, you wouldn't have seen someone behind you."

"The bullet went through both of them."

"So someone shot both of -- Tony, wait! Where are you going?"

"Get in the car." He grunts, slamming the door. "Get me out of here."

"What's wrong?"

"Can you just drive?" He hisses. "Take me to the tower, I'm getting out. We'll arrange a press release, yeah? A chance for, we'll announce that we're a team and let them grill me as much as they like. Get a -- in fact, no, tell Natasha to find a publicist, she has a good eye for stuff like that."

"Tony, you're -- calm down."

"Someone is trying to kill me, Steve. Kill me." Tony says viciously. His eyes dart from place to place. "Just, get moving. Get me out of here, get me safe, and then we can talk as long as you fucking like."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guy's single minded commitment to making tony suffer never fails to make me smile
> 
> in the words of iLock #bringbackthestammer2k14 (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> also i turn 17 tomorrow so no update ♪☆＼(^０^＼) ♪(／^-^)／☆♪


	78. Chapter 78

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the fab comments on the last chapter you guys make my day/week/entire existence

"Nice face." Clint says, slumping on to the armrest of the couch Tony sits on.

"Fuck you."

"Have your tried more ice?"

Tony shoves his ice pack onto Clint's balls and he yelps, jerks. "Fucking dick." He grumbles.

"I think it looks good," Natasha says off-hand "very manly."

"Great." Tony says "Well, that's just great, as that does literally nothing to help, so thank you."

Natasha turns, but she's smirking.

"Be nice, Tony." Steve says, flicking through the manual the publicist sent ahead.

"I would like to take this time to remind you all that this is actually your fault. I owe neither of you anything."

"You owe me your life." Steve comments.

"I kinda owe neither of you nothing."

Tony had moved into his old home, just like he said. Steve doesn't know what possessed him, or why, but if he thought he hadn't been seeing him before then he was mistaken, because this is first time Steve has seen Tony in a week.

"Will it scar?" He asks, off-hand.

Tony sighs. "Probably."

"I reiterate," Natasha says, looking at her phone "very manly."

"Could you do me a favour, tell Pepper that?"

Natasha points at him without looking up. "Noted."

Bruce chuckles from behind his paper, and Thor makes origami swans. The whole thing is very domestic.

"Swans, big guy?" Tony says, coming to sit at the table. 

"Japanese culture." Bruce fills in. "He's very into it."

Tony pauses. "Okay." He says slowly. "Well, weirder things have happened. What time did this woman say she's coming at?"

"Now." Comes a voice from somewhere behind Tony.

"People have got to stop doing that." Bruce mutters.

Tony stands. "Ms..."

"Bennett."

"Ms Bennett. Pleasure. I'm Tony Stark, although you know that, this is Thor, God of Thunder, Natasha Romanoff, ex-KGB, Bruce 'you wouldn't like him when he's angry' Banner and Steve Rogers, sometimes Captain America, depending on his mood."

Bennett shakes his hand. "I've done business with more eclectic groups, Mr Stark. You're in good hands."

"Well, not to put you off, but how are you with run-of-the-mill playboy scandals?"

She waves a hand. "They're common enough where I'm from."

Tony shakes his head, laughs nervously. "Yeah. Not like mine."

 

Later, they've ordered pizza, and Bennett sits with her sleeves rolled up and tablet out.

"It's all about image," she says again, flicking absently through the news "so far, it's good. The May Files took you down a notch, but it's still fixable, as long as you do what I say."

"What about me?"

Bennett looks at Tony. "We," she says, putting down the tablet "are going to have a very long discussion about what exactly your scandals are and how we swing them to look good."

"There really is no way."

"Then we focus on what we've got. To be frank with you, with all of you, the government hates your guts. They would love to have you taken down. You're bad press, you're an example of everything they failed to fix. Bad press is the best thing for you, in their eyes. It doesn't remove you should the need for help ever arise, but it does keep you out of the public's favour."

"And?" Bruce says, pushing his glasses onto his head.

"And this thing, this HYDRA thing, is what they're latching onto. Because this is the government's fault. No one saw this. Seventy years, and no one noticed what was right under their noses. So the government looks awful. If they can pin the blame on you guys, they almost definitely will."

She takes a bite of pizza.

"Right now," she says, swallowing "they're focusing on you because you're convenient." Bennett points at Tony. "But just you wait. Next thing you know, Natasha's a communist. Clint's a Chinese spy. Thor's a serial killer, Captain America's gay, Bruce likes to fuck ponies in his free time."

Bruce chokes. "What?"

"Obviously, none of these are true. But stuff can be twisted, as we've seen in the case of Obadiah Stane and the suit."

Tony sighs. "I still can't get over that."

"So we tackle it. Tony, they think your family's HYDRA. What have you got to prove they're not?"

"Literally nothing." Tony says, dumping his pizza on his plate.

"We know Howard Stark was killed by them," Steve puts in "that's public record, now, if we can find the file. Why would they kill one of their own?"

"Too big for his boots." Bennett says. "But nice try. It could work as a back-up."

"He was gay." Tony says abruptly. "But I mean. That might be counter-productive, considering."

Silence. Someone coughs.

"You knew that?" Steve says.

Tony blinks. "You knew that?"

"Sure," Steve says slowly. "I knew. A lot of us knew."

Tony narrows his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"So, if I could interrupt, and I mean this in the nicest possible way, Tony," Clint says, setting down his beer. "If your daddy was gay, what are you doing here?"

"Maybe he was bi." Natasha says with a smirk.

"Okay first of all, being gay does not make you sterile, secondly, I'm older now, looking back on it I'm almost 100% that my mom was his beard. There's no way he was straight, in the slightest. They hated each other. And there were always these 'businessmen' round, so allow my skepticism."

"Howard was gay." Steve agrees.

"You know, you seem to know a lot on this," Tony says, head swinging towards him. "Care to enlighten us?"

Steve shrugs. "It came up. I'm just saying."

Tony continues to watch him for the rest of the meeting.

"Well, that's all well an good," Bennett says yawning "but we need something a bit more clandestine. Tony, what about your mother."

"She did a lot for charity."

"Yeah but so did Stern," Clint points out "it's not an indicator of being a good person, no offence."

"Oh I'm sorry." Tony snaps. "I haven't got anything else."

"And she was a criminal." Natasha adds. "Or I mean, her family was." She catches Tony's eye. "Sorry."

"I am racking my brains, here." Tony says "I'm coming up empty."

"They were your parents." Clint says. "Literally what the hell, Tony."

"Could you tell me ten good things about your parents?"

"No. But they weren't good people."

Tony rubs his face. Squeezes his eyes. "He helped build the atom bomb, that's got to count for something. He helped end World War II."

"All of it counts for something. But right now, people will believe what they want to." Bennett says gently.

Tony looks up. "Right," he says "well I'm going home. I'll," he throws up a hand "I'll call you if I find anything."

"We're not finished." Bruce protests.

"There's really nothing else I can do. Figure out this press conference, text me with a date. I have work to do."

Tony leaves and Thor frowns.

"I feel as if Stark's work is never done."

Clint swallows his drink. "No rest for the wicked." He smirks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooh I've nearly finished with this part and can i just ooooh sneaky
> 
> ALSO HAPPY HALLOWEEN wow i completely forgot have a good one u guys may your candy harvest be bountiful


	79. Chapter 79

'Virginia Potts Resigns as Stark CEO'

Tony lets his eyes slide closed, rubs at his temples. There it is, then. That's it. Official.

He's not bitter. Not at all. It's just that now, on top of, on top of the terrorism, and the Dubai tower, and the team, and whoever it is that's got a hit on his head, he's now got to worry about running his company, something he hasn't done in years, and pushing back the questions into his love life.

It's everywhere, now. Everyone knows he was dumped. That his fiancé left him. 

Tony's never had his life opened like this before. No one's ever cared like this before. Sure, people like to know he comings and goings, but never to this level, never enough that, that, he has people camped outside his home.

His home.

Tony's never lived here before, really. It's very, very strange. He doesn't use all of the rooms, really only ever moving from the study to the workshop to the kitchen to his bed.

He keeps hearing his father's footsteps down the corridor. He swears it. He lies in his bed at night and tosses and turns and the whole time he hears his rough drag, the clink of bottles.

Over-active imagination, obviously.

(The nightmares are worse)

Tony's always been a glutton for punishment. Maybe that's why he's restricting himself. He keeps thinking that what he needs, really needs, is to be around actual people, but he doesn't want that. He wants to wallow and stay safe and not let anyone near him because anyone who gets close ends up -- 

God, this place creeps him out. He can't sleep in his parent's room, because that's fucked up, but he can't sleep in his old one either, because no one ever bothered to update it after he left. It's got the same posters on the wall that Tony put there in a fit of adolescent need to belong, the same clown wallpaper there was never any point to change.

Jarvis' room is still empty. His mother's day room vacant.

It's like living in a house full of ghosts, and right now it's all the company he deserves.

The files Tony took from here years ago have been lost. He has digital copies, true, but the actual photos are long gone. Lying at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean.

So he rifles through his father's study to find things he missed.

Lots of photos. Documents. Letters, and the occasional newspaper clipping. His mother's birth certificate. 

He's sure there's something of significance there somewhere, but he can't find it. He should be working, but he doesn't want to. Tony's never loved his work, but he's always taken pride in it, and tried. Now, he can't. He just can't. He wants to drink, and he wants to sleep, and he wants to assuage the ache in his chest.

He opens a folder of old documents, written in shaky script.

"What were you up to, old man." Tony mutters, thumbing through the yellowing papers. He yawns. He should sleep. Or at least try to, and drink when he inevitably awakes screaming.

A picture slides out. It takes Tony awhile to place the face, but he realises he's looking at Steve's mystery man.

"Barnes." He murmurs. "James Barnes. Where are you?"

He flicks over the picture of the solemn man, looks at the date. 1944, New Orleans.

Had James Barnes been in New Orleans for sometime over 1944? Apparently so. He should give this to Steve. It seems like the kind of thing he would like.

Tony sighs, continuing to rifle through the box. He tugs some more out of the dusty cupboard, wipes them off. The largest one, he finds out, aren't his father's papers at all. 

They're his mothers.

He frowns, coughs at the dust that bursts from the unsealed box. It's pictures, files, letters, a treasure trove of information that Tony didn't know existed.

He blinks, snatches at the first picture he sees. His mother, his father. His mother's pregnant, but far too young for it to be Tony. They stand on a balcony, overlooking an ocean.

There's a whole set. Howard, straddling a chair, cigar in hand, with, is Tony seeing right, is that Peggy Carter? Holy shit. Shield business, he realises, but still, it's jarring. Was his mother in those meetings? Did she ever take an active part? Or was this purely social? God.

Another, and Tony nearly spits out his vodka. Is that Nick Fury? Jesus Christ. God. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do with these. Was Nick Fury ever young? Apparently so. And he's smiling, pressed against Maria like --

Tony flicks to the next one. Jarvis with a cigarette in his mouth, and Howard sitting opposite, nursing a drink. Did Jarvis ever smoke? Tony doesn't remember.

Another. A man, old, a black and white photo. He's flanked by a woman, and in his arms he holds a baby. Tony passes over it. Could be anyone.

Again and again. More memories that Tony didn't know existed, that had faded from history. This is proof, then. That Maria Stark was a real person. That his mother was real, and she had hopes, and thoughts, and emotions, and she wasn't the nothing of a person Tony remembers.

Tony thumbs out his phone, sends a text to Steve. Where's Fury?

He waits a beat, and then comes the quick reply. Why?

Have a lead.

This better be worth it.

Tony looks at the picture of Maria's hand clenching the material of Nick's arm. The gentle side glance he gives her through thick brows.

It could be nothing. It could be anything. There's only one man who can tell him, one man who knows Howard well enough to give him the information he needs to clear his family's name.

It will be.

 

Later, and Tony is drunk.

He's drunk a lot, nowadays. It's getting harder to get by without a glass in the morning to get him going. He takes it at night like a baby with a bottle.

Maybe he should try pills. The anxiety pills are okay. Maybe he needs sleeping pills, too. Because he doesn't think he can go on like this.

It always starts the same. Tony will place his head on the pillow, and start counting up. At some point, he will sleep.

And that's when the shadows come for him.

Sometimes, the dreams are strange. He dreams he's standing in front of a crowd, and they're asking him questions. And he tries to respond. Tries to, because when he opens his mouth all that comes out are broken syllables and stuttered sentences.

And the crowd begins to laugh.

Other times, he's just in his suit. And he's fighting, but everything's times ten. Every burst of light, every crackle of gunfire, he hears it in his mind, and he keeps through it even though every instinct tells him to flee. And then he ends, flat on his back, a Chitauri staring over him, crushing him beneath --

Or, he's running through a desert, and they're after him they're shooting him, loud blasts of gunfire and his heart pounding in his throat.

The worst, is when he suffocates slowly. Up there. In that infinite space.

It would be better to sleep.

It would be better to avoid nightmares.

In the end, he sends a text to Rhodey. You in town?

The response comes some hours later. Next week -- tower?

5th avenue mansion Tony types back, slumping, exhausted. God, this is bad. This insomnia is really, really bad. Maybe it's the stress. Tony hasn't slept in days. This must be coming up to the third. He needs to sleep. He can't not sleep.

He sits up, rubs at his eyes. Outside, it's dark.

He can hear the rustling from the trees. Somewhere, the low buzz of traffic.

Checks his watch -- 03:02

Turns his head to the window.

The figure isn't facing him, this time. But it turns.

Sleep-deprived hallucination, obviously. That's what this is. He needs to lie down, and sleep.

But instead, in the same vein of crazy people throughout the ages, he tries to talk to the figment of his imagination.

"Who are you?" He croaks.

The thing stands silently.

"Why -- what are you doing?"

It's tall, shadowy. Definitely humanoid in shape. Just not... human.

"Where's your face?"

The thing steps forward.

"Stay back." Tony warns. "I fucking -- stay back."

It moves like a puppet with the strings cut. Jerky, uncoordinated, but moving all the same.

"Stay away," Tony says, but his voice has gone hoarse with fear. "What -- stop."

He sinks back into the sheets. This is a dream. This is a dream. This is a dream.

He pushes back against the bed, even as the thing leans over him. God, why hasn't it got a face? Why hasn't it got a face?

He breathes, pants, cringes back. This is just a dream, so why can he feel it, why can he --

He presses under the covers. It can't fucking get him there. It can't touch him. He's safe. He's not --

Quiet. Tony breathes.

In.

And out.

Slowly, he begins to loosen. It was a dream. It was just a dream. He's okay.

He's okay.

But then there's a hand on his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> extra chapter bc I have a schedule and I really don't like messing it up
> 
> EDIT: so i messed up and reposted chapter 78, this is the real chapter


	80. Chapter 80

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for ptsd, mentions of miscarriage, affairs, and allusions to well known sexual abuse that no one does anything about and if referenced in a flippant way

Tony screams when he wakes up, and Steve has to move to get out of the way, fast.

"Tony," he says "it's me!"

The other man flails desperately, trying to free himself from the blankets wrapped round his leg. "No," he says, voice high, panicked "no, no, no."

"Tony!" Steve says again, voice terse. "Tony, calm down."

Tony sits up, sucking in breaths. "Who are you, what -- why are you here, why -- "

Steve holds up his hands, steps back. "Tony, it's me. You called me. Told me to come down."

Tony blinks. "Steve?" He says, rasping.

"Yes." Steve says. "Of course it's me."

"No," Tony says, shaking his head "no no no, I didn't call you. I didn't call you."

Steve rubs the bridge of his nose. "Yes, you did. Told me to stop by in the morning?"

"Morning?" Tony says, staring out the window. "I don't understand."

"Okay." Steve says quietly. "Okay, you're obviously confused. You should get some sleep. I'm gonna go."

"No!" Tony says, and he snatches at Steve's wrist, draws him back. "No," he says, voice more even. "Just, I'm fine. I'm good. Let's, what did I say I wanted you for?"

"Photos."

"Yeah." Tony swallows. "Photos. Good times. Okay. Yeah, here."

Steve watches him closely. "Are you... sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine." He says quickly, throwing on an old MIT hoodie. "I'm good." He laughs, high, reedy. "Bad dream, bad dream, bad dream." He sing songs.

"Were you drinking?"

"Probably." Tony says, spinning too hard and losing balance. He smiles again, but it's stretched to large over his face, he seems too manic.

"Breakfast." He says "Breakfast."

"It's four in the afternoon. I'm late."

Tony blinks. "No." He says "No that can't be right."

Steve takes his hand, shows him the watch on his wrist. Tony stares.

"How long did I sleep?"

"What time did you go to bed?"

Tony slumps, runs a hand down his face. "I don't remember calling you."

"It was pretty late."

Tony swallows. He looks exhausted. Steve can see it in every line of his face. His blank eyes.

"Pictures," he says "what, what photos were I talking about?"

"You said," Steve clears his throat. "Of Bucky. You said there were interesting photos."

Steve had driven all the way down here to get them. Because he's been looking. He's been searching. Sam updates him everyday.

But Bucky has disappeared.

"Yeah," Tony says slowly. "C'mon."

They walk down winding dusty corridors. "So this was were you grew up?"

"It's where my parents were based most of the time."

"Must be weird, living here again." Steve says politely.

"Incredibly."

"You could always move back to the tower." He broaches as gently as possible.

Tony smiles. "I need space."

"Not too much. You don't want to cut yourself off."

"From who? I only have one friend left. No offence."

Steve sighs. "None taken. Was this Howard's office?"

Tony nods. "This is where the magic happened. I think."

"It's big."

"This place used to fucking terrify me. God, the last thing you wanted was to be called in here."

Steve chuckles slightly. "I know what you mean. When my mom used to give me that look the only good thing was to run as far as I could."

"What look?"

Steve snorts. "You know which one."

Tony slumps to the floor. "Sit." He says "There's too much to carry."

Steve tentatively sits. It's strange, like this. Close quarters. Tucked behind Howard Stark's desk.

He can't stop thinking about that kiss.

"So," Tony starts "the Winter Soldier."

Steve swallows. "Yeah."

"Here." Tony says softly. "That's the first of them."

It's a picture of him, and that's Bucky. Right there. They're both smiling, although Steve knows it's after he liberated Zola's camp. There's a gun slung over Bucky crumpled shirt, he's holding it with both hands. Steve, next to him, has one arm across his shoulder, and is pointing with his free hand, not looking at the camera, but smiling all the same.

Steve swallows. "Uh. Thank you. Thanks. This is." He rubs his nose. "There are more?"

Tony pushes a box his way. "I sorted them out."

"And they all have him in them?"

Tony shrugs. "My dad must've kept every photo taken."

Steve smiles sadly. "I bet he did." He murmurs.

Tony frowns. "What," he starts "what was he like?"

Steve looks up. "Howard?"

"Yeah. I mean," he shrugs, slightly. "I didn't know him. So. What was he like?"

"You knew him."

Tony makes an irritated noise. "Not like you did. I was his son. I really didn't know him at all. And this, suddenly all of this comes out," he gives a helpless shrug "I don't know. What was he like?"

Steve thinks. "He was sharp. Very sharp. Astute. He noticed things that other people didn't, that I certainly didn't."

"He could be cold?"

Steve looks at Tony carefully. "He could be. His default was more sunny, you know? He was very charismatic, everyone said so. But he could be very cruel, when he wanted to be."

Tony shifts. "I see."

"But I think you knew that," Steve says, calculating.

"Yeah." Tony answers, voice hoarse.

"I think," Steve pauses "he never saw the best in people until they were friends. Then, he wouldn't see the worst."

"That's a specific thing to say."

"Not really. It's something I noticed, out of everyone. A man like Howard though, he'd need to do that. If he started doubting his friends, what else would he have?"

"That goes for everyone."

"True."

"He searched for you, after. God, it's so surreal now, you know? There were summers I'd come home and he'd be out, looking for you. It's all come full circle."

"It is very strange." Steve agrees, slightly wistfully, because as far as he can remember, the last time he talked to Howard Stark was a few years ago. Now, he's talking to his son, who's older than him when they first met.

"Am I like him?" Tony asks suddenly.

Steve thinks. "Yeah. In many ways. It's -- to be honest, it's uncanny, Tony."

Tony gives a weak laugh. "Great." He says. "Uh, one more thing, then. When you knew him, did he," Tony swallows "did he drink, at all? I mean, was he a big drinker? Would you say it was a problem?"

Steve looks at Tony for a long time. "No." He says slowly. "Aside from public affairs, I never saw him drink."

"At all?"

"Sure. There must've been times he had something stronger when we were talking, but not enough that it ever stood out in my mind."

"He never," Tony stares at him "not even a little?"

Steve pauses. "Tony, was Howard a drinker?"

"For the time I knew him."

"Oh God. What happened?" 

Tony looks away. "Like I fucking know."

Steve shakes his head. "I never knew. I never -- Howard?"

"Is it that surprising?"

"Tony, he was -- out of all the men I knew, he was the one that had it, he just had it. Together. He was never -- my God."

Tony snorts. "Yeah well. There you go. Life does that to people."

"Do you know why?"

Tony looks at him, and although he seems tense, his eyes are soft. "I think, there were some money problems. And I think, I know, he was under a lot of pressure. I can appreciate it now, not that I wasn't aware of it back then. It was an unhappy marriage. He was probably a big fat closeted gay. And I vaguely remember him being devastated by Hiroshima."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because he hurt me when I asked what happened."

"Was he like that? Was he violent? What about your mom? Christ, I don't understand -- "

"He wasn't violent, usually. I don't think he ever hit her. He hit me, but only sometimes. When he was drunk." Tony frowns. "Or really pissed off with me. Which is, you know, strange considering there's not much a six year old can really do -- "

"I had no idea," Steve says, shocked. "I swear, I thought -- a man like Howard. Oh God."

He rubs at his eyes. Howard? Howard? How could Howard become -- no, that's just not right. That can't be --

"He wasn't like that." Steve says "He wasn't, he hated men like that."

"He hated himself, that much was obvious."

"Tony, why, why didn't you say?"

"I assumed you knew." He says, and then, looking at Steve. "I grew up with it, understand? I get it."

Steve looks at Tony, now. Thinks about Howard. Drinking.

Two men, cut from the same cloth. The resemblance is uncanny. Tony even looks like his father. His skin is more tanned, like Howard in summer, maybe, but apart from the eyes he's his father to a point. Same nose, same lips, same face, the hair, the beard, their mannerisms, even. Same sharp humour, same genius, same need to bury themselves at the bottom of a bottle.

"Yeah." Steve says. "God, I'm sor -- I don't know. I don't know. Everything moved on, didn't it."

"Without you." Tony says careless, tipping things into the box. "Yup. That's how life goes. On and on. Anyway. This was fun, but I've got work to catch up on."

"No," Steve says "stay. Just, one afternoon, Tony. Come on. You haven't taken a day off in months."

"I'm CEO now, Steve. Or at least until I find a replacement. I haven't got time for this."

"Tony, sit down."

Steve's said something, hasn't he. He's scared him off. Was he being too sober again? Natasha says he can do that, sometimes.

"Here," Steve says "I'll take these boxes. We can order something in, and look at them in the kitchen."

Tony relents. Maybe it's because he's been so lonely recently. Point being, they order a curry, and Tony breaks out his drink.

Steve watches him. "You said you started drinking when you were nine." He says.

"Around that, yeah."

"Is that because -- "

"No. It's because I saw my dad do it, and I wondered what was so great about it. And," Tony frowns "I was a weird kid, you know? I worried a lot. And I had this god awful stutter. So a beer every so often helped calm me down. But I wouldn't say it was regular until I was about thirteen."

"Oh, that's a relief."

"I'm not saying it's good." Tony says. "I know it's fucked up. But it hasn't destroyed me."

"Would you let your son drink at nine?"

"What kind of question is that? Of course not."

Steve shakes his head. "Then why did Howard?"

"Steve, you need to let this go. He was fucked up. And I only saw him a few times a year. I was at school, most of the time."

"How did you drink there?"

"Teachers looked the other way. I actually had one who would supply me with alcohol directly."

"In return for what?"

Tony frowns. "He was probably a perv. Luckily I was an ugly kid. But there you go, that's the American boarding school system for you."

Steve digs his fork into his rice.

"You're angry." Tony notes with an amused air.

"I don't know what to think." He says. "Yeah, I'm angry. I'm angry about what happened to Howard, and I'm angry that you -- " He swallows. "Forget it."

Tony frowns. "Why does it matter? I don't understand why you care. So what, I drank when I was a kid, how's that hurting you?"

"It hurts because Howard didn't help. And obviously he's not the man I remember. I, despite what you think, you are my friend, and drinking as much as you do isn't healthy."

Tony throws his fork to the table. "So that's what this is about."

"No." Steve says. "Like you said, it's fucked up. You shouldn't drink so much, but you do. I'm not going to tell your where to put your drink, within reason."

"There's those 40's sensibilities I love so much."

"I think you need serious psychological help."

"And what."

Steve shakes his head. "What was that. Earlier. With the screaming."

Tony's face darkens. "I thought you were someone else."

"I get that. I get the whole nightmare thing, Tony, you think I don't get it?"

"Did I say that?" Tony snaps "No. But you can't do shit. Stop acting like you can. You think I haven't tried?"

"I think you've got this really strange aversion to asking other people for help."

"I don't need help." Tony growls.

"Yeah I've heard that before." Steve says calmly. "It's not like you can't afford a psychiatrist."

"Steve, do you know -- " Tony pushes his plate away. "Do you think I haven't tried that before? Steve I've been in and out of psychiatry since I was four. And look how well balanced I turned out."

"I see."

"It's a joke, Steve, therapists are jokes. They don't care, and they never understand. What psychiatrist understands what it's like to, to fly into space, to have the whole world cut off, to die, d-die alone? They don't. They fucking don't."

"I didn't know."

"Yeah well keep your opinions to yourself." Tony spits, drawing the box closer, rifling through.

They sit in silence for awhile. Steve watches Tony pick out bits and pieces, flatten them, read, and throw them back in the box.

"I'm sorry." He says eventually.

"Don't worry about it." Tony mutters.

"I mean it. I'm sorry. That's not what I meant."

Tony looks up, but his eyes are softer. "Seriously, forget it, Steve. It's okay."

"What's that you have there?" Steve asks.

Tony raises his eyebrows. "I think," he says "wait, don't laugh."

Steve blinks. "Okay."

"I think it's a letter from my mother's lover."

Steve stares. "What?"

"Yeah. She was, she was having an affair," Tony cracks open the letter, draws it out "maybe more. I don't actually know." His eyes scan the paper "I know that -- "

He stops. Blinks.

Swallows.

"Tony?"

"Son of a bitch." He murmurs.

"Tony." Steve says "Hey." He stands "Let me see, what is it."

"That bastard."

"Tony, let me see."

Tony looks up. "Where's Fury."

Steve blinks. "No."

"Oh yes."

"No," he says again, wrenching the letter from Tony's hands. "Oh, my God."

Tony slumps. "Jesus." He says. "Holy shit."

"Are you angry?"

"That my mom cheated? No. In fact -- no. Not at all. Just a bit -- Fury? Really? And that bastard sat there and -- oh my God he was my father's friend! How could he -- she was pregnant! Steve! Pregnant! Oh my God! Oh my -- "

"Calm down." Steve says, steadying him with one hand, reading the letter with the other. "You're right." He confirms. "It's all here -- we can never be, I respect Howard too much, I want to focus on my career."

"That baby," Tony says "fuck, what would have happened if she carried to term?"

"She didn't?"

"Miscarried. Over Christmas."

"And that was Fury's ba -- "

"Don't even say it."

"Oh my God. Tony, your family is something else. Mafiosas, terrorism, affairs with secret agents, Jesus Christ."

"Where is he." Tony demands. "Don't even try to bullshit me."

"Europe." Steve says. "I swear, that's all I know."

Tony's eyes narrow. "He didn't give you, what, an address?"

"It's not like he wants to be found."

"But you know how to find him?"

Steve pauses. "I'll arrange a meeting. I won't tell you how, but fine, I'll arrange one. Is this about the leads?"

"This man knows my dad better than anyone else alive. He'll know something we can use to get the press off my back. Maybe he'll be able to fill in what Paul was saying, too."

Steve stares. "What was Paul saying?"

"You mean, before his head exploded? That I knew nothing about my family. That this goes deeper than I ever realised."

"And he was shot before he could tell you."

"Exactly."

"Convenient."

Tony murmurs in agreement. "And we still don't know who saved me."

Steve wipes a hand down his face. "Tony," he says "you are... you are a busy man."

Tony snorts. "Yeah well." He downs his drink in one, blinks back watery vodka-burnt tears. "You should go. Sorry. That's rude. See if you can arrange the meeting? I need to get into work tomorrow."

"Get a good night's sleep."

Tony waves a hand. "Sure." He says. "Whatever."

"I mean it, Tony. Sort this out."

Tony smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Yeah." He says dully. "I'm on it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm too tired to even think of something to say it's bonfire week kinda in the UK so i've been at these fireworks and every year they get worse and every year i get more unfit and walking up that hill is just not cool


	81. Chapter 81

"Whitney," Tony says, twisting his chair to face the office window "you're going to have to say that again."

"Paul. He's dead."

"Yeah. I know."

"Can I ask how?"

Tony pauses. He has ten minutes left of lunch. How much can he fit in?

"So someone wants me dead."

"And Paul just got... caught up in it?"

"Seems like it."

Whitney hums down the line.

"Weren't you two together?"

"I loved him like I loved by ex-husband. Monetary reasons."

Tony sighs. "Whit, you get more sociopathic as the years go by."

"Yeah well, life does that to you. When can I see you?"

Tony looks back at his watch. "I'll probably be leaving at six."

"Let me take you out to dinner."

"I thought you were in debt."

"Not anymore, sweetie. Not now that Paul's gone and blown a hole in his head."

"Don't say that," Tony hisses "shut up."

"You're right, that was crass. But I have something important to tell you."

"And it can't wait?"

"It has to be in person."

Tony sighs. "Fine. Okay. I'll meet you at that sushi bar a block away from the mansion."

"The one with the interactive tables?"

"The other one."

"Ooh. Expensive."

"Treat me." Tony says, stifling a yawn. "Eight o'clock."

"It's a date."

"It's not a dat -- "

She hangs up. Tony stares at his computer screen.

Planning permission. What could be more interesting? He loves planning permission. This is definitely what he spent six years studying electrical engineering for.

He pours himself a drink before his hands start shaking.

 

"You seem stressed." Whitney says, picking delicately at her rice.

Tony stares at a spot somewhere on the table. "Yes." He croaks. "A little."

He tips sake into his mouth and Whitney's eyes narrow, slightly. But then she brightens. "So," she says "how about that Paul."

"Shh," Tony hisses "keep your voice down."

"Ah yes," Whitney says "wouldn't want anyone to know which Paul, out of the literal millions that exist, we are talking about."

"Could you be less subtle if you tried?"

"Relax, Tony."

Tony shifts in his seat. "Look," he says "someone wants me dead. Someone physically wants me dead. And I know it's mighty convenient for you that Paul's gone -- "

"For you, too. He died taking that intel with him."

Tony pauses. He doesn't want to admit that he's relieved Paul's dead.

"There we go." Whitney says appraisingly. "It's okay to not be so good all the time, Tony. You are human."

Tony just rubs his eyes.

"What are we doing," he murmurs "why are we here, doing this."

"I can think of other things we could be doing."

"I have a girlf -- "

"No you don't."

"No," Tony says shortly "you're right. I don't."

Whitney's hand shifts. Finds his. "Which is why I'm here."

Tony stares at her. "Why are you still doing this, Whitney."

She leans back. "You know why."

"I don't believe that anyone, you especially, could still be in love with me after all this time."

"Just because you never loved me doesn't mean it didn't work the other way round."

Tony scoffs. "I loved you."

"You got bored of me."

"No," Tony says "that's not what happened."

Whitney raises her eyebrows, looks away, face sharp. "Sure, Tony."

"Well what do you want to hear?" He snaps, maybe too loudly, because some people turn. Tony swallows.

"What do you want from me?" Tony says, voice lower. "Do you, can you in any way comprehend the level of shit I'm going through right now?"

Whitney looks at him and subtly takes out a cigarette. "You can't smoke in here, ma'am." A waiter says, and Whitney slides him $50.

She leans close. "I am well aware, Tony. I want to help."

Tony's eyes narrow. "Why?" He says "Because we broke up so well?"

She taps her smoke on the edge of an empty glass. "No," she says "because you're my friend, and you helped me, and because I know how badly you handle stress."

"I don't handle -- "

"I remember, when you were fourteen years old, you threw -- what was your roommate called? Rick? You threw Rick's radio out the window because you thought he was irritating."

"He was, and that was a natural reaction."

"But at the time, you were very stressed out. All those college essays."

Tony snorts. The idea of being stressed out by something mundane as a college essay is laughable, now. "And what?" He says "That's why? Because you think I don't manage stress well?"

"Tony, I know you don't."

Tony looks down. "It's not the stress." He murmurs.

"Tell me." Whit says quietly.

Tony looks back up. "I did. I told you I wake up screaming every night."

Whitney's eyes go very distant. She looks away. "I am," she swallows "I am very sorry to hear that."

"I have," Tony sighs "an anxiety issue." He whispers. 

Whitney raises an eyebrow. "Wow. That's a surprise."

Tony frowns. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Whitney laughs. "Tony, you've always had an anxiety issue."

"I haven't -- "

"You really have."

"You think because I got stressed out when I was fourteen, I have an anxiety problem?"

"No. I say that because you started drinking when you were, what, ten? And you stuttered up until that point. And you had nightmares, and I always just assumed you hated people because you never bothered to -- "

"Oh, shut up." Tony says irritably. "I did not."

"There we go again," Whitney snaps, digging her smoke into the table. "You talk to anyone else that way? Why was it always me that got your shit moods? Take it out on someone else. I am not your scapegoat."

"Stop poking me when I'm low, Whit. That's why you get the brunt of it."

"You're right, you're low, so you have every excuse to treat me like shit." Whitney spits. "That's how it always goes with you."

Tony blinks. "When has that ever been the case?" He hisses.

"That's how you work, Tony," Whitney shoots back "you need someone to take it all out on. Who was it, after me? Was it Potts? Is that why she left?"

Tony, for a very, very brief moment, sees red. He tenses.

Whitney moves back.

But then he settles. Clears his throat, and downs his wine. He swipes his mouth with his thumb. Looks up.

"She was pregnant." He says calmly. "Is that what you want to hear? She lost the baby. That's what happened."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Tony says, standing. "It was nice to see you. I'm going. I have a press conference in the morning, I should be at the tower."

"Tony."

"What?"

Whitney takes his hand, and then she stands too. "Don't leave. Come on. We've always been like this. Just -- I'll come with you."

Tony snorts. "Take you to my home? No thanks."

"I've already been." Whitney reminds him.

"Yeah, when you screwed the Captain. That was classy."

Whitney's hand tightens reflexively. "If you didn't want me to come, you would have let go." She murmurs. And then she leans close. "I remember how you like it." She whispers in his ear.

Tony, despite himself, shudders. "I can't."

She leaves money on the table, leads him out into the street. Tony moves as if in a daze. "Yes," she says, louder now that they're outside "you can."

"I," Tony swallows "Pepper."

"Doesn't want you, Tony. For God's sake, she left you. She said she saw the worst in you, why -- Tony, why do you do this? Why do you chase after people who don't like you when I'm right here?"

"I don't do that."

"Yes, you do. You chased after your father for years. Ty. That Chinese bitch."

"Japanese. She was Japanese, don't pretend you're stupid."

"And now Potts."

Tony looks away, but he's still holding Whitney's hand. "Whit," he sighs "I'm not looking for a relationship."

"Of course not." She says, and she tips his chin to look at her. "Neither am I. But I want you, and I think you could do with a pick me up."

Tony snorts. "Pick me up." He mutters. "Is that what we're calling it nowadays?"

She looks at him. "Tony, I don't -- I don't think it's possible that anyone will ever love you as much as I do." She says. "And I know you're not mine. I've reconciled myself to that. I've moved on. But I still love you, and I care about you, and I have this ability to tell when you're hurting. And right now, Anty, you're really hurting. Somewhere very, very deep. And I don't think you want to admit it."

Tony looks away, swallows. Clears his throat. "I have a press conference tomorrow," he says "so you'll have to be out by lunch."

Whitney brushes some hair from his forehead. "I'll be out by nine."

Tony closes his eyes. "Yeah." He murmurs.

 

Whitney is pressed against the couch. "Tony," she gasps "Tony."

"Calm down," he says, biting kisses down her neck. "I haven't done anything yet."

"Take off your shirt." She says, voice low. "Let me see you."

"It's not pretty."

"That's a lie." She giggles. "I can feel you -- you work out now, don't you?"

"I have a scar. I'm telling you, it's not -- "

Whitney's fingers make short work of his buttons, part his shirt. She blinks at his chest curiously.

"I never realised."

Tony swallows, suddenly hot with shame. "This is a bad idea." He mutters, sitting up.

"What?" Whitney says "No! Don't be stupid, lie down. Let me make you see stars."

Tony pushes back. "I don't want this. I can't. It, it feels like cheating."

"Why?" Whitney demands "Because Potts left you? Because she's probably found someone else? Is that why?"

"Stop it." Tony says. "Fucking stop saying that."

"Make me." Whitney taunts. "Go on, Tony."

Tony pushes her back into the couch, one hand twisting in the elastic of her panties. "Yes," she gasps "do it."

He wants to. Wants to slip a finger inside her. He wants to do all that. But her hand is on the back of his neck. She's so close. He can feel her breathing.

He slumps. "Whitney." He mutters.

"Tony?" She says, slightly tapping his face. "Tony, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

He drags up his head, stares at her. "Not tonight, Whit. Another night, I promise. But not tonight."

Her eyes narrow. She makes to slide away.

Tony takes her wrist. "Don't leave." He whispers, and out of all the pathetic things he's ever done this rates close to the top. "Just," he swallows. "Stay with me."

Whitney's face softens, finally. She seems to understand. "Hey," she says "hey it's okay."

"I can't sleep." Tony whispers. "I don't sleep anymore. And it was better when she was next to me. I felt safe."

"That's okay. I'm sorry. I forget, Tony, I forget you're not -- you're not the same person I knew, are you."

Tony shifts, and Whitney sits next to him. "Here," she says "please, just lie here. Come on."

Tony rests his head on her shoulder, overcome with exhaustion. "I don't sleep," he mumbles "I can't eat. I don't want to, anymore. What's the point? She's gone, Whit. She's gone, and everyone hates me."

"It'll get better." She soothes, and she drags a hand down the back of his head. "Shh, Tony."

"Hold me." He mumbles. "Please hold me."

Whitney's face is pained, but she holds him all the same. "Shh," she says "it's okay, Tony. I'm here."

Tony doesn't know what he wants, and he doesn't know what to do. But for the briefest moment, everything is okay.

And then it all goes to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story is gonna get so sad that i decided to give a tony a puppy to make it better so watch out for that
> 
> coming soon: doge and stebe
> 
> up next: actual vat of shit for tony


	82. Chapter 82

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning's for, uh, blood. And guns.

Steve tries to stifle a yawn.

Bennett stares at him. "If you could keep yourself together for another moment, Captain."

"Sorry."

Tony smirks, flicks through the pack she's given him. "Don't worry, Cap. These things are boring as hell."

"That's what we're hoping for." Bennett says. "Boring. Usual. Lot's of public support. You better pray it's boring, Stark."

"Every damn day."

"Can you try not to be so blasé?" Bennett snaps. "God, Tony."

"The alternative is crying." He sighs, throwing the pack onto the table. "Where are we with time?"

Clint looks up. "Five minutes to go."

Steve sees Tony shiver. "Okay. Okay. Well, haven't done a press conference in months but what you gonna do about it?"

"Hope they don't start throwing things." Natasha says smoothly.

"That is a possibility."

"I doubt that people with throw things with me next to you, Anthony."

Tony laughs. "Thank you, Thor."

He inclines his head, smiling, and swings his hammer casually in a circle.

"Try not to take anyone's head off." Bruce murmurs.

"The crowd love it," Natasha says "actually, the crowd love Thor, period. He's the only one getting off scot-free here."

"Oh, I don't know." Tony says lightly. "You're doing okay for yourself. But then again, you removed your file, didn't you?"

"Not now, Tony." Bennett warns.

He shrugs, but his eyes shoot daggers.

Natasha's eyes meet Steve's briefly and then she looks away. She knows not to push it. Maybe one day Tony will forgive her.

Because Tony doesn't seem very angry with Steve. And, look, Steve's not complaining at all, Tony's great and he would hate for him to, well, hate him. But considering Steve was 50% of the team that released the information onto the web, you would've thought he'd be pissed at him, too.

Then again, Tony and Natasha have a history. And he doesn't think he ever really forgave her for spying on him that one time.

"Okay," Bennett says "remember. Keep it calm, don't be fazed. Tony, don't shout, and no out-of-the-blue revelations. If, and this is only if, they come up with some info that we weren't aware of, you can rebuke with the best you've got. The rest of you, remember, you're a team now. So no rolling your eyes -- yes, Tony, I still mean you. Okay," Bennett hops from foot to foot, shakes out her arms. "Okay, one minute to go. Are you ready? I'm ready. Okay. Whew."

"You seem tense." Bruce notes.

"You guys wind me up -- oh God, that's the light, okay guys, go, go, go, I'll be in the front row if you need me, nodding or maybe contemplating suicide depending on how it goes. Okay. Okay, good luck."

They picked the lobby of the tower for this. There are six chairs, up on a constructed raised podium, with six microphones. Obviously advertising has been busy because there's a big 'A' behind them.

Steve tries to remember the last time he felt like this. Probably when he played the star in the nativity play in second grade -- not the main character, no, the actual star, as in he had to wear a pointy hat and slippers with glitter on his face. Slightly stupid but still nervous.

There's a polite applause, maybe even more than polite. Some people stand up when they walk in. They take there seats, and somehow Steve is sitting next to Tony.

"So," Tony begins, standing. "Obviously, following our announcement, there are a lot of questions. That's understandable. We'd just like to use this time to let you -- and the public -- ask what you think needs to be asked. I've also been told to remind you that your mobile phones need to either be switched off or on silent."

A low murmur of laughter at that, and then Tony sits. Sips from his water.

"Mr Stark," a woman in the front row says straight off the bat "I think a few of us would like to know where you've been for the past six months?"

"Good question, Christine. Hiding, mostly," another round of laughter "and working. You don't have to be an engineer to know that the amount of work that goes into my suits requires a lot of my time."

More murmurs, the snapping of cameras. Another buzz of questions.

"Mr Stark, that may be true, but you haven't been seen in an Iron Man suit for a long time. A lot of us are wondering if your role in the new team will be simply the bankroller."

Tony looks at Steve, and Steve takes the cue to smile. "Which is why," Tony says "I'm officially announcing my return as Iron Man."

More questions, and even applause. "Mr Stark, can you confirm that it was Virginia Potts who stopped you from wearing the suits in the first place? Can your change of heart be accounted to your sudden break-up? Was it the reason?"

"I won't be answering personal questions, however the answer is no, no and no."

"Who will be taking over the day to day operations of Stark Industries while she's gone? Are you looking for a replacement?"

"Me, and yes."

"So you will be taking over both your previous role as CEO and Iron Man?"

"I've done it before and I'll do it again. This time, obviously, with the help of my team."

The rest of them smile and nod, because that's what they're there for. To be a supportive team.

"Uh," Tony scans the crowd. "You. In the blue sweater."

The man stands. "Mr Stark, what do you say to the rumours that your father -- and you -- are a member of HYDRA?"

The crowd quietens. Tony shakes his head. "Look," he says, raising his hands. "A few things. First of all, if I was HYDRA, they wouldn't have been found out. Simple as. If I was HYDRA, I would have killed my good friend Steve in the Battle of New York and made it look like an accident -- no offence Steve."

"None taken."

"I could have let the world security council nuke New York and flown off to safety. I could have blown up countless countries with my bombs. No one could have stopped me. The fact that I am sitting here, talking to you, and there is no federal inquest into my activity shows that there is no way I could be HYDRA. Frankly, I'm insulted that after putting my life on the line a few times, so many people could believe that I would ever be apart of an organisation that in the past has been known to torture children."

"Mr Stark, how do you explain the Obadiah Stane cover-up?"

Tony leans back, and inhales deeply.

There's complete silence through-out the room.

"Well, that's a fair question," he starts "I think I should begin by saying something my father once told me: Obadiah Stane is a snake. Those were his exact words. And he said them many, many times. I would like to remind you that what businessmen put on for the cameras and what we do behind closed doors are very different."

"Your father didn't trust him?"

"I'm under the impression he hated him. I always assumed that Stane was an active part of SI because my father was more of an engineer than a businessman. He didn't know he was HYDRA, I," Tony swallows "I certainly didn't, either."

"And yet you covered up his death?"

"I built my first suit in order to escape captivity. The reason I was in Afghanistan in the first place was because Obadiah Stane had decided he wanted me dead. I built the suit to escape, understand? Stane... didn't think that way. Even when I was younger I saw the morally dubious side of what my business was doing. Stane never did. He saw the suits, he saw a weapon, he took advantage of that and he replicated my design."

"We thought that couldn't be done."

Tony smirks. "It can't. He used my original plans, smuggled out from Afghanistan."

"That doesn't explain why you covered up his death." The woman -- Christine -- asks.

Tony looks at her. "At the time, SHIELD didn't want panic."

"SHIELD is HYDRA, Tony."

"Is what we now know. So more likely HYDRA didn't want the information that Stane was a megalomanic getting out. Makes him too suspicious, right?"

That's not why. Steve knows it's because Tony didn't want the stock to drop. But the lie is so plausible the press eat it up. There are appreciative murmurs. Tony's spun himself as the victim of one of the most shocking cases of terrorism the country's ever seen.

Christine smirks. "That's very clever, Tony. Can you explain why I have evidence showing that Howard Stark conducted business with Roxxon Oil -- now known as one of many of HYDRA's incomes, other than SHIELD."

Tony blinks. "Excuse me?"

"Didn't you hear? Roxxon, Tony. It's all over the news as of about," Christine checks her watch "two minutes ago. Roxxon was a front for HYDRA. That's right -- this goes further than SHIELD." Christine turns, and addresses the crowd. "Who knows what other companies are a front for this organisation! BP? Apple? McDonald's?" She laughs, and turns back to Tony. "Stark Industries?"

The crowd erupts. Tony slumps back into his seat, and sips from his water. Out the corner of his eye, Steve sees Bennett shake her head.

"Hey," Steve says "HEY."

The crowd dies down, all of them staring at him. Expecting something from him.

"I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for that, right, Tony?" He says, feeling intensely uncomfortable.

"What year do you say the deal went down?" Tony says quietly.

"1976." Christine answers.

Tony nods. "Yeah," he says "thought so. That would, that would be the year Stane muscled his way into SI. Make of that what you will -- clearly, someone in my company was HYDRA, and it wasn't my father. I have plenty of evidence on my side that my father did not trust Obadiah Stane and that any deal made on his behalf was forced."

"Your father doesn't sound like a very strong man."

"My father was acutely aware of the world, and what it had become, and unfortunately, as is the way with idealists, he was disappointed. Life ruined him. As much as I would like to blame him, I can't."

Silence.

Tony looks up. "Any further questions regarding this matter, or can we move on?"

"No," Christine says "I think that's it."

"Good." Tony says "Because there's a lot we need to get onto regarding the Aveng -- "

There's sharp noise, not sharp, a bang, and Steve knows that noise in his sleep, it's a gun. No, a rifle.

Tony falls to the ground.

"Tony!" Steve manages, and then there's another bang, the bullet coming to slam just over Steve's head. People are screaming, and Tony is bleeding.

"Where is it?" Steve says, voice panicked "Where's the blood?!"

Bruce pushes Tony flat on the ground and Steve screams. "Everybody out! Everybody get out! We need a medic, someone call an ambulance! His throat," Bruce says "Tony can you breathe? Can you breathe? Squeeze for yes -- okay, okay that's it."

"Shut up," he wheezes "I can't -- " He coughs, and more blood spits from his lips.

"Jesus." Steve says, because he's bleeding, deep dark red, and it's threading through Bruce's fingers.

"Steve, hold it." Bruce orders. "Everyone else back away, Natasha go find the shooter, Steve add pressure but don't suffocate him. Thor, watch our backs, Clint get everyone out of here."

Steve's hands are wet with it, wet with Tony's blood. "It didn't slice the artery," Bruce says "there's no way, there would be more blood."

"What is it?" Steve says, as Tony's eyes roll into his head, his face pale.

"Bullet grazed him." Bruce says. "My God, it grazed him, it was off by a fraction of a millimetre, any less and he'd be dead."

"Tony," Steve says "hey, hey Tony, stay awake."

Tony moans, slightly, and Steve shushes him. "It's okay," he says "just keep your eyes open."

"Steve," Tony manages, voice thick.

"Yeah, Tony. It's me, come on."

Tony's eyelashes flicker, and his blood pulses out from under Steve's fingers.

 

It was cold when they loaded Tony into the ambulance, and it's cold in here, this hospital room. Steve wants to make it warmer, maybe, but he's acutely aware that this is Tony's room, and maybe he wants the temperature this way.

He will live, that much is clear. Full recovery, because the bullet grazed his neck.

Grazed. There is no measurement on earth that can describe how close exactly that bullet came to Tony's carotid artery.

Of course, someone has a hit on Tony. Someone still wants him dead. And Steve, Steve doesn't know who. Or why.

Tony will wake up soon. And then he'll have to face what's going on outside. Roxxon was revealed to be a front for HYDRA. No one knows what else will be revealed next. Cut off one head and two more grow.

It's never been more apt.

Steve realises then that these are dark days. And he watches Tony's pale skin and his bruised eyes and the bandage wrapped tight around his neck and all he can think is dark days.

His hand skims Tony's hand, unsure of whether to grasp. He settles for the side of the bed.

Dark days indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys are just all so enthusiastic about the puppy


	83. Chapter 83

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for alcoholism and mixing drugs and alcohol with the intent of getting high.

The good news, Tony decides, is that no one in their right mind would think he's HYRDA now. Not when he was nearly assassinated at his own press conference.

"You're not living alone." Natasha spits, and Tony's never seen her so angry, or not angry, just wound up. "Don't be a fucking lunatic, Tony, not when someone wants you dead."

"I can't move back into the tower."

"Why not?"

Because I need my own space. Because I'm hurt. I'm a little bit scared. I can't get my mind straight. I want to drink without you watching. I just can't.

"Because." Tony says lamely.

"Don't be stubborn."

"I'm not." Tony says stubbornly, or rather, croaks, because his throat is fucked "I just need... my own space."

"You need to get your head glued on fucking right."

"Fuck you."

Natasha breathes out. "It's not up for debate. We'll leave you alone. But anyone can get in here, it hasn't even got Jarvis for fuck's sake. Get into the tower, and get yourself safe."

"I'll have to move everything again."

"Tony."

"Fine. C-christ, you fucking slave-driver. I remember why I don't like you."

 

Tony expects, maybe, the days after the second assassination attempt for Pepper to call. To maybe see how he's doing. How his nerves are holding up (not good; he's fraying at the edges) and whether his throat is okay.

Nothing. Not even a text.

What he does get is Rhodey and Whit, on one awkward occasion both at the same time, and suddenly he's eighteen all over again.

"Hello." Rhodey says slowly. "I'm sorry. Do I -- do I know you?"

Whitney blinked. "Yes," she had replied "yeah. I mean, Tony and I. We used to. You know."

Rhodey narrows his eyes. "... Whitney?"

"Yes." She says succinctly. "Yes, yes that is me."

"And you're," Rhodey looks at Tony with alarm "you're dating now."

"No." He answers quickly. "No. No. Never. Um," Tony rubs the bandage on his neck. "We're friends."

"Are you screwing her?" Rhodey says bluntly.

"Yes." Whitney answers.

"I'm not -- not really."

"He's lying." Whitney says. "But that's okay. Bad break-up and all."

"So soon?" Rhodey says, and his voice has gone a little high pitched. "After Pep? She said -- "

"She said what?" Tony asks.

Rhodey swallows. "I mean -- "

"Have you -- have you been talking to Pepper?"

Rhodey stares at him. And then relents. "She may have called me, once or twice. To catch up."

"Right." Tony says. "Right, that makes sense, because," Tony swallows "because you were nearly killed and you dated for four years, right, how could, how could I not see that."

He stands. "Tones," Rhodey says "c'mon, man."

"I'm going to lie down." He says, and it's not a lie. He's going to drink a bottle of wine and go lie down.

"I'll come with you." Whitney says, taking his arm.

Tony smiles his tight smile. "Great." He says. "Bye Rhodey."

"Tony," Rhodey says to his retreating back. "It's not like that man."

"Yeah, don't worry about it."

Rhodey braces his hands on his hips. "Can I bring my girlfriend next time?" He calls.

"Sure." Tony shouts back.

"I think you'll like her!" Rhodey manages before Tony leaves the room.

 

Tony's drunk, but that's okay. He's always drunk nowadays.

"Fury." He mumbles. "Fury, fuck you, Fury."

The man on the screen narrows one eye disparagingly. "You called."

"You were too late." Tony manages. "I needed information from you and you fucked off."

"I've been busy."

"Paris is fun, right?"

Fury sighs. "What do you need, Stark."

Tony wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. "You screwed my mom."

Fury looks at him. And then looks to the side. Back at him. "That's none of your damn business."

"It is absolutely my damn business."

"What we did was -- "

"But he was your friend." Tony slurs. "Why -- who sleeps with their friend's wife?"

"It wasn't like that. Needless to say, I don't need to explain myself to you."

Tony blinks. "That is," he hiccups "that is unbelievably selfish Mr Fury."

"Your father wasn't a good husband."

Tony snorts. "No shit. He wasn't a great father either."

"I'm not here to be part of a pity party."

"No." Tony agrees. "And I have better things to do than look at your face. So if you could just, I don't know, put down every itty bitty thing you know about my mother and, my family, and what was apparently so fucked up that it needs to be kept a secret from me, down, then you can be on your way."

Fury looks at him. And his voice actually softens. "You don't want to know."

"I really do."

"Well you're not a child, I'll give you that. But your father told me that you were never to know."

"Oh get off your high horse," Tony scoffs "I'm forty-four years old, Fury. My daddy can't keep secrets from me now."

"You won't want to know."

"Send it whenever," Tony says, tipping himself some more scotch. "I'll look over it eventually."

"Later rather than sooner."

"Just do it." He says bluntly "And I won't blame you for being the catalyst that destroyed my mother."

 

"How's work?" Steve asks one day a few weeks later.

Tony looks at him. "Cute." He mutters, downing his drink in one.

"Is that breakfast?"

Tony lifts the bottle. "And lunch. And dinner."

"Tony."

"Did you hear that D&A Mining's been done for being HYDRA?"

"You're joking."

"Is anywhere safe?" Tony laments sarcastically, draining the dregs from his glass.

"Jesus." Steve says, shaking his head. "What world are we living in?"

 

"Congratulations Mr Stark, building's all done."

Tony nods. "Great. We need a press release on this now."

The Dubai Tower had been a long, long time in the making. It was Pepper's obviously. Kind of an engagement present. But obviously.

"Will you be -- "

"Me?" Tony laughs. "No. No, not me. Didn't you hear? I'm a recluse, now."

Bennett arches an eyebrow at him. "Don't be ridiculous, Stark."

Tony rolls his eyes and reaches for his flask. "Whatever you say. Handle it. I don't want any part. It's not my tower. As far as I'm concerned, it's over."

 

"Mr Stark." The balding man says. "We are your investors. As troubling as you find it, you have to listen to our input."

Tony rolls his eyes, sips his vodka-laced coffee. "I can't stop being an Avenger, that's not how it works."

"We're not asking that, Mr Stark. We're just asking that you," the members share looks "that, for God's sake man, make an effort. Go outside. At least act like you give a damn!"

Tony giggles.

"My God," one of them says "is he drunk?"

"This is Howard all over again." The oldest says. "It only took twenty years, Jesus, Tony. Get yourself together."

"Oh, go fuck yourself." He says, drinking his coffee down in one, shuddering at the taste.

"That's enough." One of them says, standing. "Mr Stark, we can't do this. We cannot abide this."

"You're right," Tony says with faux-consideration "you're right. You should, I don't know, fire me." And then he bursts out laughing.

 

"You told them to fuck themselves?" Clint says, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah I did." Tony says, hands shaking. He smoothes them down his pants, tries to clear his vision.

Clint leans back in his chair. "You know, a few of us are concerned."

Tony laughs, a bitter thing. "Why?" He says, although he knows.

"You drink a lot, Tony."

"I've always drunk a lot."

"No," Clint says quietly "not like this."

"Well," Tony says, snatching for words "well, well, I, I'm under a lot of, it's a lot of stress, so. It's n-not, you don't fucking understand."

"I get it. You need the vodka to start the day so your hands don't shake, and you need to keep topping up so you don't feel sick, right? Because that's where you're at now. I actually think you've like that for a while, but plausible deniability and Pepper kept you in place. And now you take a shot to make sure every night is blessedly numb. Because anything's better than the nightmares."

"Go fuck yourself."

"We want to help, Tony."

"I don't need help."

 

Tony's vomiting into his toilet.

Ah yes, this is good. This is familiar. This is just, wow. He's on top of the world right now. He hasn't left the tower in weeks and he's literally throwing up pure spirits. Perfect.

He swipes a hand over the back of his mouth. He's fine. He's fine. He's fine.

Deep breath in.

And out.

Okay. He has, there's a board meeting at one, and he should be there for that. But he should also call Whitney, and tell her that he needs her.

So in the end he misses the meeting and fucks Whitney instead.

He's fine.

 

"Mr Stark," the old man says "Mr Stark this can't go on."

Tony thumbs his sunglasses. "Could we turn the light down in here?"

"Mr Stark, we're filing an injunction."

"Good for you."

"Mr Stark, do you understand what we're saying?"

Tony rolls his eyes. "Yeah. Sure. I'm getting everything."

The man shakes his head. And starts again. "Mr Stark, we think you need a break."

And then some old guy is talking about rest, and relaxation, and clinics, and help, and how it will all be waiting for him when he gets back. Tony tunes a lot of it out, but he catches the drift.

"You want me gone. You're selling me out."

"Mr Stark, this is a difficult time. We trust you, and we appreciate that. None of us here take any pleasure in this. You are Howard's son. I remember that," the man pauses "but you need help. We're saying this for your own good. We will keep things running, Mr Stark. All we need you to do its take a break. Or, we can start vetting potential candidates for your position and you can head back to R&D, obviously still with the largest share of stock. Mr Stark? Mr Stark?"

"You can't freeze me out of my own company."

"We're not trying to. We just want -- "

"You can't do that."

"Mr Stark," someone says, and this time it's a woman, and her hand is on his shoulder. "We respect you. And this goes nowhere but here. We've had the lawyers draft up a confidentiality agreement; you can tell the press what you will. But it's time for you to get some rest."

Tony blinks. "What?"

"Come on, Tony." The woman says, and Tony remembers her son was at the clinic in New Mexico a while back. He remembers giving her paid leave to sort him out. She gently draws him back out of his chair, and Tony's brow furrows. "I don't unders -- "

"Go get some rest, Mr Stark." She says. "We have this under control."

 

_Tony Stark passes control of SI into hands of the board -- discuss?_

It's some business blog. They told everyone that he was handing it down so he could focus on saving the world, but people are asking why he hasn't been seen in his suit and where the hell is he, why doesn't he leave his tower?

He doesn't want to die, mainly. And this is the only safe place left.

And he doesn't want to have to look people in the eye. He just, he doesn't see the point. He's past it, he's gone. He's got everything he needs here. If he could just stay like this forever, it would be okay. He has kinda friends and Whitney for sex and he can just sit here and do nothing for ages. Fuck, he's drunk.

His nerves are frayed. His feels like an unraveling piece of hemp rope. He doesn't know what to do. 

Drink. Drink, and take those pills. The combination leaves him floating, and gets to just drool into the covers until Jarvis drags him out.

It shouldn't be that strong, maybe, but some drugs have that kind of reaction with alcohol and he never bothered to check what Pepper got him, he just keeps filling the prescriptions.

"Tony?" Steve says, knocking on the door. "Tony, they're saying you're not CEO anymore. Tony?"

Tony blinks dozily at the window, at all the twinkling lights. "Come in."

Steve sits on the edge of his bed. "So." He says, and he sighs heavily.

"I think," Tony swallows "you know, I'm not feeling so good."

Steve looks at him. "How much have you drunk?"

"Pills." He slurs. "Not supposed to mix 'em."

"Oh -- oh Jesus, are you -- "

"Captain, if I may, he is fine." Jarvis interrupts.

"Tony, what are you doing."

"It's like," Tony yawns "s'like a legal high. I just g-get to float."

"Jesus." Steve says, and he hangs his head.

"Oh no," Tony says, sitting up. "Shh, no no no, s'not bad. S'not a bad thing." He manages, and then he slumps, head rolling onto Steve's shoulder. "Feels good."

"Tony, we don't know how to help you. I'm sorry, we don't know what to do."

"Shh," Tony says "it's okay. If I get, if I have the pills, and I have the drink, and everything stays the same forever, it'll be okay, I think, maybe. I can do that."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Steve huffs "I know you are. Okay." He says "Come on."

Tony blinks. "What?"

"Have you got something you wear to sleep?"

"I wear pyjamas."

"Yeah, have you got any?"

"I wear pyjamas."

"Okay. Well we'll just wear these, shall we?" Steve hands him a vest and tracksuit bottoms. "Put these on." He says.

It's tricky because Tony feels all over the place. "You've put the pants on inside out." Steve sighs. "It's okay, never mind. Get into bed."

"C-can I have a drink?"

Steve pauses. "What happens if you don't?"

Tony shudders.

"Okay," Steve says "here we go." And he takes the bottle from Tony's beside cabinet. "I'm going to mix it with something warm, okay?"

"Make me go to sleep." Tony slurs.

"Yeah," Steve says "and you sleep as long as you like now, because you don't have anything important happening tomorrow. You're on a long vacation."

Tony giggles. "A long vacation?"

"A holiday. A break. You don't have to worry about anything."

Tony sighs. "I have to worry about everything."

"No," Steve says, and he pushes Tony's hair up his head, keeps his hand pressed there. "No, you don't. Here."

Steve hands him a steaming drink of something warm and -- that's chocolate, hot cocoa and vodka. That's good.

Tony finishes it and lets the cup roll onto the floor. "Why are you here?" He says, and then burps.

Steve sighs. "Because there's no one else, Tony."

"Where's Rhodey?"

"You told him not to come back."

Tony blinks. "I don't," he shakes his head "I don't remember that."

"Yeah," Steve says "I know. Why don't you put your head down."

"What time is work?"

"There is no work."

"Well there's gotta' be something."

"Nothing. You just rest, now."

Tony sucks in a breath that gets caught in his throat, a little. "Are you stayin' or going?" He slurs, eyes heavy.

"I'll stay for a while, Tony."

Tony nods, or at least he thinks he does. That's okay.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sings* eveeeerrything is awwwful
> 
> coming soon: butter my stutter


	84. Chapter 84

"An intervention." Bruce says. "That's what people do. They hold interventions."

"I don't have... experience here," Thor says "and I cannot say, in any truth, that I understand afflictions of the human mind. But a -- what did you call it?"

"An intervention."

"An intervention." Thor clarifies. "Runs risk of making Stark feel like a child."

"He's right." Natasha says, biting her thumb. "It's patronising."

"We don't know him well enough to do anything else." Clint says.

"We don't know him well enough to do an intervention full-stop." Steve supplies, rubbing his eyes.

"Who else is there, though?" Bruce says sadly. "He doesn't have anyone else."

There's quiet, then.

"Rhodes? That's one." Steve says.

"And the woman you slept with."

"That's... that's two."

"No hope in getting Potts down here, then." Clint says, slightly bitterly.

"No," Natasha sighs "I don't think so."

"Well I actually disagree." Bruce says "I think we know him well enough to stage an intervention -- you know what I think? I think you're trying to make excuses to save yourself the trouble."

Steve wants to protest, but Bruce is insightful that way. "It's not that exactly," Steve says "I like Tony. He's a good friend. But I don't want to make this worse. None of us do."

"I don't," Natasha frowns. "This isn't -- it's harder to separate what we should do. Because. I don't know. It's harder, when you know the person. When you respect them."

"You can't dissect him the same way as you do your targets?" Steve asks.

"No," Natasha reasons "I just don't want to. Who wants to see a friend fall apart like that?"

"I vote we take it one step at a time." Clint says. "I think you're all over-thinking it -- not to downplay the problem, it's just that something like this might come naturally. Poor guy's obviously having some kind of nervous breakdown. Let him figure out what he wants first of all and help him along the way. I think Steve's right when he says holding an intervention's just the wrong thing for him," Clint shrugs "look at him so far. I asked him to get help and he told me fuck off. Be subtle."

"That's it." Steve sighs. "You need to act like you're not doing it purposefully, or he won't trust you."

Clint points. "Exactly."

"We'll see." Natasha says. "Let's just wait and see. He could wake up tomorrow fine. Let's just -- we can wait."

 

"Tony?" Steve says tiredly, knocking on his door. "Are you awake?"

Tony looks up when Steve comes in. He's just sitting on the bed, bottle between his crossed legs.

"Tony," Steve says "where are you getting those from?"

Tony shrugs. "I hide them. Just in case."

"Right." Steve says "Of course you do."

Tony smiles, face exhausted. "Can I help you?"

"You -- do you remember what happened?"

Tony thinks. "Sure," he says slowly "I got frozen out of my own c-company."

"They only want what's best."

"For the company."

"You too."

Tony looks down. "My dad would have killed me if he knew." He mumbles.

"How's your neck?" Steve asks, searching for something to say.

Tony frowns. "Steve it's been two months."

"I know." Steve swallows. "I was just. Wondering. Can I sit on the bed?"

Tony looks up. "Sure."

Steve sits delicately on the edge of the mattress. Tony looks at him. Just looks.

He seems crumpled. Worn down. Steve can't -- he doesn't understand it.

"What are you doing, Tony." He murmurs. "Why are you doing this."

Tony looks at his fingers. "I can't sleep." He says, and his voice cracks.

Steve's face twists, suddenly, because it's a shocking sentiment that he can understand. "Tony... is that why? Is it, did you ever get help?"

Tony shakes his head.

"Listen, Tony, Tones." Steve shakes his head. "I get it. I understand that. The nightmares and the fear and the -- but you can't meltdown."

"But I have, haven't I?" Tony makes an attempt at a scoff. "I've had it coming for months. Just everything building up, one after another after another. I couldn't -- I feel like I've been on an edge, because you released the intel and Whitney came back and Paul, and now someone wants me dead and it's way too close to call, I need to sort out the tower and the company and I need to find someone new to take my place but there's no one I can trust. I have one friend in the whole world, Steve, and I keep telling him to leave me alone. I don't sleep at night, and there's this, there's this buzzing in my brain like a swarm of insects just waiting to, waiting to cut me loose. I don't know," he says "I don't know anymore."

"I've seen so many soldiers like this, Tony."

He doesn't even protest. "I know. I know, it's stupid. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, and I should," he sucks in a shaky breath "I just need to keep going but I can't, and I don't know how to stop, and I just wish, I wish it would all just stop so I didn't have to, and I was never made for stress and my hands keep shaking. I don't know what to do. I don't know."

"We're here for you, Tony."

"Don't be stupid. I don't want to impose. You have real lives to get on with, just, just leave me."

"Tony, I think you seriously need help."

"I'm fine. It's just, it's a low mood okay? It'll pass. It always does."

"If this is a low mood I'd hate to see rock bottom. Please let us help you."

"I don't need help," Tony insists, even now, still, even though he's shaking and his eyes are round with sleepless nights and there's a bottle between his knees "please, don't, don't bother yourself with me."

"Suck it up, I'm going to bother myself with you. I want to bother myself with you. I like you, Tony, and for some reason no matter how often I say it you don't hear me."

Tony laughs, a little. "It's fine, Steve. Don't worry."

Steve holds up his hands. "Fine. Okay. Well, you go on doing whatever it is you're doing now. I will help you, whether you like it or not. It's not up to you. So there we go."

"Why? Why do you -- why would you want me to," Tony shakes his head "get better." He finishes dully.

"Because you're my friend, and you're Howard's son, and my God, Tony, you're caught in the middle of one of the worst cases of PTSD I've ever seen, to not help would be criminal."

"It's not -- "

"It's the reason you feel like this. I'm sure of it. You're stressed, you're panicked, you can't sleep. It's held at bay by your suits and Potts and drinking. Potts leaves, your suits go, you drink more to compensate. Then, the press, the stress. The tower, the assassination attempts. It all builds up, doesn't it? And you drink more and more. And it's not a far reach for you to become completely dependant because you've been drinking everyday for years, haven't you? So now when you go three hours without a drink your hands shake."

"I don't think I can do it anymore." Tony says, exhaling a shaky breath. "I just don't think I can do it."

"Hey," Steve says softly, clasping his knee. "That's alright. You're on a break now, Tony. Relax."

"I can't do that," he croaks "I can't just -- first thing tomorrow I'm going to walk in there and tell them they need to give me back the position, I can't, I can't, God. The place will fall apart -- they need me, Steve, for the negotiations. We have dealings in the Middle East, it's too precarious. They don't trust anyone else, and do you know how long it took me to be seen as trustworthy to them? We c-can't just -- "

"You can."

"No. No I have to," Tony stands, fevered "I need to fix the suit up. No, I need to start it again. It's not good enough. I need to get the press off my back. I need to just, R&D, I need to keep it ticking. I need, to, I -- "

Steve gently pushes him back onto the bed. "You don't need to do anything. There's nothing left for you to worry about."

"You don't know that."

"No, but I know that you need rest. It'll work out. It'll be fine. Sleep for awhile."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk nothing more to say other than the next two chapters are awful and then it gets a lil bit better and then awful again


	85. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So to answer some questions:
> 
> THE PUPPY HAS NOT BEEN FORGOTTEN. THE PUPPY IS COMING UP, NOT NEXT CHAPTER, THE ONE AFTER.
> 
> Also, Ty will be making a reappearance shortly after that.
> 
> Although the story is hard on Tony, after this he does start to get better. Due to the help of his friends. Or, friend.
> 
> Warnings here for media hounding, brief panic attacks, stuttering.

[Action: play.audio]

[Unknown male]: Mr Stark! Mr Stark! Mr Stark, how do you respond to claims that Stark Industries is a front for HYDRA?

[Stark, Tony]: No comment.

[Unknown male]: Mr Stark you have stated that you have no knowledge of any financial dealings with Roxxon or D&A Mining and yet your father has dealt with both in the past -- how do you answer this?

[Stark, Tony]: Look, I'm just trying to get to work, would you fuck -- 

[Unknown female]: Mr Stark, you've talked a lot of good talk about not being affiliated with HYDRA, yet seem unable to give a straight answer as to why exactly your business had dealings with them in the seventies --

[Unknown female.1]: What do you say to rumours that development on the Dubai tower has been delayed?

[Stark, Tony]: I say how the fuck did you get in here, this a private lobby. Security!

[Unknown male]: Mr Stark, what about the announcement that you are no longer CEO of Stark Industries? Why? Were you fired?

[Stark, Tony]: It was, it was a personal choice so I can give my full focus to one --

[Unknown male.1]: But can you confirm that it was in no way linked to your assassination attempt or the stock drop?

[Stark, Tony]: Obviously, I feel that --

[Unknown female.2]: What about reports that you've turned up to work drunk everyday for the past two weeks?

[Stark, Tony]: That's none, that's none of your damn fucking business --

[Unknown female]: Is it safe to assume that you will not be returning to your position?

[Stark, Tony]: Shut up! Shut the fuck up, get that -- get that fucking camera out of my face.

[heavy breathing, feet scuffling, broken glass]

[Unknown female]: (scream)

[Unknown male.1]: Hey! Don't you touch her, Stark, get away from her!

[Stark, Tony]: I'm sorry. I'm sorry, here, let me --

[Unknown female.2]: Will you take action against the boards decision?

[Stark, Tony]: Stop, stop asking questions, she's hurt --

[Unknown male.1]: Get away, Stark.

[Stark, Tony]: (breathing heavily) I'm sorry, it was an accident, here, let me write her a check --

[Unknown male]: Mr Stark how do you explain yourself for assaulting a journalist?

[Stark, Tony]: I didn't, I didn't assault her, she was in the way --

[Unknown male]: Of your fist?

[Stark, Tony]: Turn that goddamn camera off.

[Unknown male]: Are you trying to obstruct the freedom of information for the American people?

[Stark, Tony]: Don't be -- of course not, I'm just trying to get home. You're obstructing me.

[Unknown male]: Do you believe free press is an obstruction to you fulfilling your aims?

[Stark, Tony]: If my aims are going home, then yes.

[Unknown female.1]: Mr Stark, you claim to be a hero, yet -- 

[Stark, Tony]: Yet what?

[Unknown female.1]: -- Yet your actions of late have proven the contrary.

[Stark, Tony]: Do you live in New York?

[Unknown female.1]: Yes

[Stark, Tony]: Then you're welcome. Thank me later for saving your life.

[Unknown female.1]: Can I get a comment on that? Do you believe you saved New York?

[Stark, Tony]: I, I flew that nuke into --

[Unknown male]: What do you say to those who feel the Avengers are a threat to public safety.

[Stark, Tony]: We're not a threat, we can't --

[Unknown female.1]: We're? Are you an Avenger? After the press conference, you made no action on your announcement that you would be re-joining the team.

[Stark, Tony]: Stop it. Stop it, I was shot, how was I -- 

[Unknown male]: You seem flushed, Mr Stark, maybe you should sit down. Let me buy you a drink.

[Stark, Tony]: Fuck off, just --

[Unknown female]: Can I get an exclusive interview? I'd love to grill you on how it felt, taking that nuke --

[Stark, Tony]: W-what? Who have, who have you b-been t-t-talking to? Who told you, who -- 

[Unknown female]: Who told me what, Mr Stark?

[Stark, Tony]: (gasping) The n-nuke, how did, how did you know --

[Unknown male]: Mr Stark? Are you alright?

[Stark, Tony]: Can't breathe, can't --

[Unknown male]: Could you say that again for the camera, Mr Stark?

(retching, grunts)

[Unknown male]: Aww, Jesus. How much did he have to drink?

[Unknown female.1]: Shit, Dave, move away, I think he's having a heart attack.

(microphone disconnected: audio capabilities at 13%)

[Unknown male]: (muffled) Do you think this will be enough for the boss?

[Unknown female]: (muffled) You tell Stone that if he wants this done so badly he should just get his ass in gear and do it himself.

 

A fucking goddamned disaster, that's what it is.

Bennett has seen some train wrecks of media messes before, but never one that appears to have been deliberately sabotaged by the person she's trying to help.

"This is it, Stark," she says, massaging her temples "one last shot, okay?"

"This is a waste of time."

"Tony," she says, and she takes his shoulders. "Listen to me. You have this last press conference to make a difference, understand? To convince people you're not completely, absolutely, out of your mind. Do you think," she exhales heavily from her nostrils "you can handle that?"

Tony shakes her off. "Go fuck yourself."

"With pleasure. I'll fuck myself all day if that's what it takes to make you do something productive." She takes a deep drag of her cigarette. "You see this?" She says "This is you. I haven't smoked in years."

"Good for you." Stark says, making it clear he doesn't care in the slightest. "Good for you." His hands reach for the bottle.

She slaps them away. "Don't you dare." She says "For Christ sakes, Tony, not in public."

"You really don't want me going up there with nothing in me."

"I want you sober."

Tony laughs, bitter. "That's really not a good idea."

In the end, it doesn't matter. What can she do? Stark is stronger than her, and she gets paid either way.

 

On the stage, she watches him.

"Mr Stark," a man says, standing "how do you account for your actions regarding two members of the press last week, one of whom you assaulted."

Tony shakes his head. "I was stressed." He says quietly. "I only meant to knock the camera. She's been refunded."

Tony isn't even sitting up straight. It's like thirty years of comportment have just gone out of the window. He slumps, puts his chin in his hand.

Are you bored? She wants to hiss. For fuck's sake, Tony.

"Who will be taking your place as CEO?"

"The board will rule until a," Tony waves his hand "a suitable candidate is chosen."

"What do you say to those who wish to sell their stock?"

"Don't, obviously. You people love your fancy gadgets. You're not going to stop buying them because I'm not the CEO."

A ripple of agitation from the crowd.

"Mr Stark, what do you mean by 'you people'?"

Tony rolls his eyes. "The public. All of you. You love your products, your gadgets. You all want to have the latest, all want to be the one to have it first, and you never think where they come from. Every time you buy an iPhone, you're supporting an industry of child-workers who'll be dead by the time they're fifty." Tony grins. "But hey, what do you care? It's a lot easier to sit here and grill me, right? It's okay. I don't want you to think too hard."

Someone throws something. Someone actually throws an apple core at his head.

Tony snorts. "Next question?"

"Are you drunk?"

"Unfortunately not."

In a fair world, someone would take him off the stage now. But they let show go on, because people want to see him fail. How sad is that? How awful can they be?

A security guard steps up to protect him from any other flying objects. "Mr Stark, you talk a lot of talk for a man who made weapons for most of his adult life."

"Absolutely I do. And I regret it every damn day."

"You haven't been seen in an Iron Man suit for years. What do you say to those who believe it was just a passing phase? Did you get bored, Mr Stark?"

Tony blinks. "What?"

"Of being Iron Man. Did it bore you? Is that why you stopped. Like making weapons, it got tiring, you needed a new scene."

Tony looks genuinely confused. "I," he shakes his head "I had to."

"Mr Stark, could you comment on why you felt you had to stop protecting the American People?"

Tony looks around, meets Bennett's gaze. "I, because I flew the damn nuke into the portal, that's -- "

"That doesn't answer the question."

"I," Tony swallows "I had to make that choice for my own, my own well-being. I couldn't -- "

"Your own well-being?" Someone says "What about us?"

A cry of agreement from the crowd.

"I didn't want to stop," Tony protests "it wasn't like that. It wasn't. I had to, I had -- "

"But why?" Someone else says, and there's another cry of applause.

Bennett stands. "That's enough, for today. Obviously, Mr Stark has answered your questions, and -- "

"I want to know why Mr Stark feels he no longer needs to protect us?" A man demands. "Chickened out?"

"It's not like that!" Tony says, and this time, he sounds desperate. "You don't, you d-don't understand, it's not, you don't just get scared, it's n-not about being scared -- "

"Then I feel, on behalf of the American public, I deserve an answer."

Tony swallows. "It's l-like," he says, and then stops. "L-like. L-l-like." He blinks. "L-l-l-like, like."

"Excuse me, Mr Stark?"

"It's like, like, like, you c-can't sleep? You c-can't -- " Tony pushes back his chair. "I c-can't -- "

Maybe it's the lights, or something else, but Tony's face is flushed, shiny with sweat and the tips of his ears burning.

"Mr Stark, not getting enough sleep is -- "

"S--s-stop it!" Tony snaps. "S-s-stop asking s-s-stupid questions, s-s-stop -- "

This isn't right. This whole thing, the whole set up.

It's not right. No respectable journalist would ever grill a man like this --

"That's enough." Bennett says, and this time people look at her. "We'll be calling an inquiry into the behaviour of your -- "

"Our behaviour?" Someone says "What about his?"

"Mr Stark, maybe if you couldn't handle the pressure of life as Iron Man you should I have given the job to someone more suited?"

"I t-tried," he insists, and his chair hits the wall as he slides back as far as he can go "I swear I t-t-tried."

"The real question here," comes another voice "is what you're going to do about it."

A murmur of assent. "Yeah!" Someone shouts, and they're not even pretending to be civil anymore. "What are you going to do about it!"

Tony blinks. "G-g-get it back, I swear. I'll just, f-fuck, I'll b-be CEO again."

"How do you propose to do that?"

Tony stands, swaying, using the table to support himself. "I s-swear."

Someone laughs. "What's wrong with your voice, Stark?"

He runs.

 

STARK RAVING MAD  
Dick Headson

Billionaire industrialist Tony Stark added fuel to the flames that he is currently indisposed when this shaky camera footage revealed that he suffering from what appears to be some sort of mental breakdown. The hero -- formerly known as Iron Man -- is seen here dressed in a sweatsuit and tie, being led out by security from the board room of the Stark Industries headquarters. Witness accounts state that he screamed at the board members for little over ten minutes, threatening to jump out the 100th story window. An insider revealed that Stark has been in decline for months in a downward spiral triggered by an assassination attempt at the now infamous Avenger's press conference. It is thought the incident occurred when Mr Stark attempted to regain his position as CEO of the company after yesterday's disastrous Q&A. 

The billionaire, who was seen two weeks ago in a violent incursion with members of the press, is currently under fire for his shaky links to a prominent HYDRA member, Obadiah Stane, who controlled the second largest majority of stock after Stark before his death in 2008. As of yesterday, this has led to an official inquest into Stark Industries accounts in an attempt to discover whether the company -- like Roxxon and D&A Mining -- is a front for the terroristic organisation.

Insiders suggest that the mounting pressure is another reason for Stark's mental lapse. "He's stressed," one man says "half the time he comes into work drunk and when he doesn't he's all over the place." This comes as no surprise to many old-timers in the company, as they say 'like father, like son."

Someone who may take an interest in these proceedings is Tony Stark's ex-fiancé and former CEO Virginia Potts. Miss Potts has been on an extended vacation for the past three months. Many now wonder if she will come and take the helm of the flagging fortune 500 company.

An official spokeswoman for Stark Industries says "Mr Stark is under a lot of pressure. Unfortunately, as he is human, he is unable to continue in his line of work without focusing on fewer issues. We hope that everyone, the media particularly, will remember Mr Stark's role in preventing terrorism both domestically and internationally and act with tact and good will at this trying time."

Many may take from this that Mr Stark is currently suffering from a PTSD induced nervous breakdown. From all of us here at the NNC newsroom, we wish Mr Stark a speedy recovery, and hold in mind the considerable cost of his heroic efforts at protecting our great nation. We keep him in our prayers.


	86. Chapter 86

Natasha's the one who comes to collect him.

It's not like it's a long journey. She just needs to travel down the elevator to the 100th floor. But it feels longer.

They put him in an empty room with a security guard and locked the door. At that moment, Tony becomes acutely aware of his sweat pants and his stained t-shirt and the fact he's only wearing socks. Somehow, for some reason, he's put a tie on, but he can't quite figure out his reasoning behind it.

The door opens, and Natasha walks in. She, at least, is well put together. Black vest, cream leather coat, jeans and boots. She looks good, she always looks good.

She jerks her chin, and the security guard stands. "I can take it from here." She says, and she gets out her purse. "Keep quiet, yes?" She says, pushing a handful of $50 bills into his hands.

The door shuts, and then they're alone.

Natasha sighs. Takes a seat, and perches down in front of Tony.

He looks up, slightly. Doesn't move his head but stares at her through red-rimmed eyes.

"Here." She says, and she hands him a tissue. He takes it, and doesn't protest.

"The work day ends in twenty minutes. This floor is only for meetings, right? It'll be empty."

Tony nods.

"Okay. Well if you like, we can just wait here for a while. Until everyone's gone."

He nods again.

Natasha looks at him. And then rubs her eyes. "Jesus, Tony."

Tony just stares.

"What were you thinking? What were you trying to achieve?"

Tony looks at her, folds his arms over his belly.

"Tony?" She says "Tony? Are you listening to me?"

She takes his chin, tilts up his head, and he meets her eyes.

"They laughed." He croaks.

"What are you talking about?" She says, voice more soft "Who laughed?"

"At," Tony breathes in, focuses. "M-me."

"Tony?"

"I just," Tony huddles closer. "Wanted t-to help. With Iron m-man. I d-didn't -- "

He looks down. He's just so tired.

He's crying, too. As if, as if the weight of humiliation levelled against him wasn't enough. There are tears softly rolling down his cheeks.

"CEO," he manages "they said." Tony swallows. "They s-said I n-needed t-t-to do something about it."

"Okay," Natasha says, and she looks down, takes his hand. "Okay. I see. You thought you were helping." She runs her hand through her hair, braces the other on her knee.

"I was in Afghani -- Afghanistan. D-do they understand? I don't," Tony starts to cry, this time in earnest "they t-tortured me, Nat, I, is it selfish? Of m-me to th-think that I don't d-deserve the p-p-press, I don't deserve what they're doing to me? What they're writing about m-me?"

"No," Natasha says, and she squeezes his knee "it's not selfish at all. You're right. You don't deserve what they're saying about you. At all."

There's a fierceness in her voice that Tony doesn't want to think about.

"It's not fair, is it?" She mutters. "It's not goddamned fair that they take it out on a man like you. You're a hero, Tony. A veteran. It's fucking shameful, that's what it is."

Tony doesn't say anything.

"And you listen to me," Natasha says, taking his head in her hands. "Don't start to believe it. Don't believe what they say when they tell you it's your fault, or you're wrong. You're not."

"I d-don't," Tony sucks in a breath, and then exhales on a sob. "I don't want to think anymore."

He gets it back together. Holds his breath for as long as he can.

"Don't, Tony," Natasha says "considering what just happened, you're allowed to cry."

But he doesn't want to. He wants to get up and walk out of here and be normal, not --

God, what's happened to him?

There's a knock on the door.

"Leave." Natasha snaps.

"It's me," comes the low voice "Tones? Tones, you in there?"

Natasha lets Rhodey in. "Tony," he says, crouching beside him "Tony, man. Hey," he says quietly "hey. Look at me."

Tony looks. His eyes are red and bruised. He's aware his cheeks are wet. That his nose is running. That his hair is matted, and he smells of sweat.

"I came as fast as I could."

"Where's your g-girl?"

Rhodey waves a hand. "Doesn't matter. Here," he takes the tissues from Natasha "wipe your nose."

Tony feels shivery, breathless. He wondered how long he shouted for, because his throat is burning. "Th-thanks."

Rhodey's hands rub up and down his arms. "You're cold." He says.

Tony's feet curl a little in his socks. "S'okay."

Rhodey turns to Natasha. "Could you guard the door? There were some people trying to listen."

Tony ducks his head again and feels a whole new wave of shame overcome him. Is it not enough? They've all seen him breakdown once already, do they still need to listen?

She leaves, and the little room is quiet. Rhodey hangs his head.

"What happened, man." He says, voice soft.

Tony swallows, eyelids flickering. "I," he says "I th-thought," he exhales on a shuddery breath "I don't know."

"You wanted to be CEO?"

"No," Tony says distantly "they wanted me t-to."

"Who?"

"Th-them." Tony says vaguely.

Rhodey nods as if what he's said makes sense. He takes Tony's head in his hands, gently cradles it. He pulls at his cheeks and stares into his eyes. "Are you in shock?" He says "You're stuttering."

Tony doesn't have the energy to take his hands from his face. "No." Is all he says.

It'll pass, he thinks. He probably just needs to rest.

A really, really long rest.

"But you're cold." Rhodey says.

Tony nods. "Little."

Rhodey wraps him in his jacket, which is two sizes too big. "Okay." He says. "You just sit here for a little while, and then we'll go up to the penthouse. I can order in some pasta? Tony?"

Tony starts crying again, and Rhodey lets his head fall onto his shoulder. "I," he gasps "I love p-pasta." He sobs.

Rhodey huffs against the material of the coat, and holds him tighter. "It's okay, Tony. Shh, it's okay."

"With cheese." He manages, and he's still crying, and it's one of the most surreal moments in his life, dressed in socks and someone else's coat crying into his best friend's shoulder in an unused office because he offered to buy his favourite food.

"Yeah," Rhodey says, laughing a little "with cheese. The biggest bowl you've ever seen in your life. You look like you need it."

Tony sucks in a breath and slumps back in his chair. "Sorry." He says "F-for this."

"Don't be sorry," Rhodey says "c'mon, Tones. You don't have to be like that, I'm used it. I'm always gonna be here when this happens, I was here last time and I'm here now. Christ, man, what do I have to do to show you I'm in it for the long run."

Tony looks down. And squeezes Rhodey's wrist where his hand touches his skin.

Natasha opens the door. "It's empty, if you want to come out now."

Rhodey looks at him. "You ready?"

Tony nods.


	87. Chapter 87

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for your viewing pleasure (actual photo of fucknut the puppy): https://www.google.co.uk/search?q=golden+retriever+puppies&espv=2&biw=1440&bih=609&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=LFNeVJ2pDKqt7AbDxIG4Dw&ved=0CAYQ_AUoAQ#facrc=_&imgdii=_&imgrc=Rul1CCET92XklM%253A%3BluTp3q6iKsH6WM%3Bhttp%253A%252F%252Fperfectpuppycare.com%252Fwp-content%252Fuploads%252F2013%252F06%252Fgolden.jpg%3Bhttp%253A%252F%252Fperfectpuppycare.com%252Fgolden-retriever-puppy-profile%252F%3B425%3B282

"They said you're stuttering again." Whitney says, leaning against the doorframe.

Tony looks up from his bed, and then slumps. Rolls over, so he doesn't have to face her.

"I told them you used to." She says, coming closer. "I told them it's their fault."

"Not th-their fault."

Whitney stands in front of him. He looks up at her.

She sighs, and slides to the floor. Sits up against the bed, head near Tony's. She raises her arm so she can pet his hair fondly, like a favourite pet.

"They're the ones that released everything to the world. You were doing okay before."

"I was heading for a n-nervous b-b-breakdown. They j-just sped it up."

"Which makes it okay."

Tony lets his eyes fall shut. "Don't want to fight, Whit."

Whitney sighs. Her hand moves down, until it holds Tony's. Tony holds back.

"You're too good for them." She murmurs. "Too good for anyone at all."

 

Someone knocks on his door. "Hello?" Steve says "Tony?"

Tony swallows. "C-" he starts, scrunching his face with frustration "c-come in."

Fuck, that's bad. That's sound really, really bad. He needs to work on it, get it under control.

Steve pokes his head round the door, smiles. "Hey, Tony."

Tony can't work up the energy to smile back. He tries to say 'hi' but his mouth isn't working round the 'h', it keeps getting stuck in his throat. He gives up.

Steve is undeterred by his stuttering and silence. He's wearing a tight blue plaid button down. Does the man own anything that actually fits? Jesus. When he's better, Tony will take him to a tailor. Not that he doesn't appreciate the view.

"Is he awake?" He hears Clint hiss.

"Yeah," Steve says, looking behind him "uh, Tony, what's the tower's policy on pets?"

Tony blinks. "W," he starts "w-w-what?"

"Pets, like," there's a small, high-pitched yelp, and Clint swears "like, are you allowed them in the tower?"

"S-s-sure?"

"Okay," Steve nods encouragingly, "okay, that's good, because you know, we're having a -- Jesus, Clint would you stop?"

"I can't hold them all."

"We're having an image problem, or, uh, you, specifically, so we were volunteering -- "

"Steve was volunteering." Clint mutters from behind the door.

"Right, so there was volunteering, but you know, there's just never enough space for all the animals. And I was reading that they can be great for, you know, uh, PTSD, or anxiety or, specifically, stammers, because they're supposed to calm you down. But, we couldn't choose."

"C-c-couldn't choose? Oh shit. You d-didn't -- "

Clint kicks open the door, and after that, it's an onslaught.

Tony blinks. "What?" He says, so shocked he doesn't even have the time to stammer. "What the fuck -- "

"You can choose which one you want." Steve says.

"I don't want one!"

Steve lifts a fat little puppy and hold it up. "Don't lie, Tony."

"W-what am I g-g-going t-to do with a d-dog you assholes."

"Fuck if I know," Clint says, herding them onto the bed "but Steve said it would be a good idea."

"Of course it's a good idea." Steve says mellowly, content in the knowledge that puppies are the cure-all to every ailment. "Choose one. We're giving the rest to an orphanage."

Tony doesn't need a dog. He doesn't need this.

"F-fuck off." He says. "Get their shitty asses off my b-bed d-do you know how unhygienic they are?"

"They're puppies, Tony, relax. This one likes you."

"I don't like it."

"Suck it up." Clint says. "Here. This one's two months, and has a heart condition, which I thought was great for you, because you're obviously completely _heartless -- "_

"The j-jokes b-b-been done b-before." Tony dismisses. God, this is tiring. He should just pick on to get them out of here.

"One week," Steve says "one week, and if you hate it then we'll find it another home."

Tony's eyelids feel heavy. "This one." He says. "Why d-doesn't it like me?"

"It doesn't like people."

"It's a g-g-golden retriever, they love people." 

"Not this one." Clint says with a grin.

Tony sighs, and drag it onto his lap. It bites weakly at his fingers.

"Very fuzzy." He notes.

"Very fuzzy." Steve says seriously.

The other dogs roll around the bed, bumping into his knee, tugging at each other's ears. "Take them." Tony dismisses.

"You'll take it?" Steve says, grinning, eyes lighting up.

"Don't take it." Clint says, "Come on, Tony."

Tony's eyes narrow. "You b-bet on me."

"Take the dog, Tony." Steve says. "Help a guy out."

Tony stares at the yellow squirming mound in his lap. "How m-much?"

"What?"

"How m-much d-does Clint owe if I t-t-take the d-dog?"

"The price of the dog."

Tony nods considerately. "Purebred?"

"Purebred."

"So about $600?"

"That would be about right."

Tony's eyes slide to Clint. "Take the rest." he says "I'm k-keeping it."

Clint makes a tsking noise and Steve smiles like he's given him the world. "That's the spirit." He says, collecting a pile of puppies onto his lap.

Tony sighs, and brings the little thing in his arms closer. It's very small. Smells very clean. Fresh. It's so damn fluffy.

It gives a small yawn, and wriggles in his grasp. Tony tentatively rubs at the spots where it's ears start, the crown of it's head.

The little thing squirms, and then falls still. Slumps into his lap, and it's a lump of warmth.

It bites along the blanket with little teeth, and when Tony offers his fingers, nibbles consideringly.

Tony hums and scratches at it's back until it stretches, gets onto it's paws and climbs up his chest. He stares at it, blinking, when it sniffs at his face.

Licks his cheek.

And then doesn't stop licking him, like, Tony can probably skip a bath for the next few days because it seems desperate to get it's little pink tongue over every inch of his face which, you know, isn't bad because _puppy_ but in the long run is a little icky.

He picks it up and holds it at arms length. "P-probably a b-bad idea." He says and the little thing pants, squirms in his hold.

"It's just a dog." Clint says, dumping puppies in a box.

"Yeah b-but I c-c-can barely look after m-myself."

Steve snorts. "I'm sure you'll do fine."

They leave, taking their hellish burden along with them. 

The puppy stares at him with little black eyes. And a little black tongue. And a fuzzy wuzzy head.

_Fuzzy wuzzy._ Oh God.

When he holds it, it buries into his armpit, tries to wiggle as deep as possible. Tony smiles and drags it away, sits it on his belly.

It tries to bury up his shirt, desperate to get as close as possible. It tickles, and Tony giggles.

"Stop." He says. "Stop that."

The puppy continues on it's adventure, and pokes his head out of Tony's shirt, tongue to close to his chin for comfort.

"What did I say?" Tony frowns, trying to figure out the logistics of getting the puppy out. "What's wrong with you? You little fucknut. Here, no, _here."_

He dumps the little yellow ball of fluff on the pillow next to his head. "I'm going to sleep." He says. "Do you understand what that means, you terror?"

The puppy takes little steps to climb back onto his belly.

"No, you fucking drumstick, stay there."

The dog, apparently, doesn't understand English, and Tony thinks he's been a little undercut by the whole thing.

Instead, when Tony rolls over in an attempt to get it off his chest, it settles on his back. Tony frowns into the pillow. "Fuck." He mutters.

He's made a huge mistake. 

"Don't shit on my back," he murmurs "I could just, I could do without that, okay shortstack?"

The lump yawns again, and turns circles between his shoulder blades.

"Oh, don't mind me." Tony grumbles. "Take your time."

Finally, it settles. Tony sighs. Give it a week, and if he hates it, he can send it back.

He can just send the little ball of fluff, all innocence and light and everything that is right with the world, back to the kennel to inevitably be put down by people who don't even care that it's just a little puppy because their over-subscribed and why would they care about little fucknut -

He's probably in too deep. But at least when he screams in his sleep the puppy won't sleep on the couch.

 

So.

What has Tony lost?

His company. His wife. His pride. His sanity. The Iron Man.

But what has he gained?

A stammer, and an anti-social puppy.

He's doing okay.

 

Steve suggests he starts going out at night. "I'll come with you," he says "what could be more safe?"

Tony is uneasy. The first night, the don't leave at all. Tony starts crying in the foyer, with the puppy biting his ankles, and Steve has to confiscate all the phones and delete the footage. He cries a lot now, which is irritating, more than anything, because all it takes is the slightest provocation.

But they start. It's getting milder as they slide into May. It's his birthday soon.

They always wait until it's dark out, because Tony doesn't like to be seen. Which is stupid, he knows. But whatever. Mostly they walk through central park. It's nice. Definitely the highlight of his day.

He's always a bit unsure, because it doesn't seem fair to make Steve give up time to spend it with him. But Steve insists that he enjoys the company and likes the slow pace in the evening and 'for God's sake Tony, I like you, now let me help.'

"It's P-p-pepper's birthday." He says, one evening as they pass the lake.

Steve looks at him. "Are you," he looks at his feet "are you going to call her?" He says quietly.

Why would he? Everyone knows Tony's out of his mind. She'll have seen the video. She didn't contact him at all. Why would he call her?

Better to just leave it. Keep it a clean break. As clean as they can make it.

"How is that?" Steve asks. "I mean, with you two. Are you..." Steve pauses "how is it."

Tony snorts. "I d-don't know, Steve." He says. "There's n-nothing I can d-do."

"Have you," Steve sighs "I mean, have you thought about finding someone else?"

Tony pauses. "Maybe," he says "I d-don't know who could," he laughs "who would want m-me like this?"

"Oh, Tony," Steve says warmly "you know there are lots of people who could love you."

"I'm a m-mess," Tony points out "and b-b-besides, n-no one wanted me b-before. They won't want m-me now."

"Tony."

Tony looks at him and smiles. Steve laughs. "Do you do that on purpose?"

"Well," he considers "it's n-not entirely an act. I d-d-do hate myself a little b-bit."

"Don't we all." Steve muses.

Tony doesn't really want to respond to that, because he doesn't think someone as good as Steve could ever hate themselves as much as Tony. So they walk in silence for awhile.

"Seven years." Tony says abruptly.

Steve looks at him. "What?"

"Since I was k-k-kidnapped."

"I'm sorry."

Tony shrugs. "Yeah, well." He says. "What you going to d-do about it?"

"Does it scare you? How much things have changed."

Tony gives a small smile. "It terrifies me."

Steve's hand comes to settle on his shoulder. "Yeah," he says "me too."

"N-not quite the same, is it?"

"No," Steve admits "but they're both sad. In they're own ways."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #gratuitouspuppylove there's no way tony would ever actually get a puppy but fuck it he's got one and it's here to stay and, just in advance, the puppy will not die the puppy will be the only person who gets out of this story scot-free #longlivethepuppy


	88. Chapter 88

Somehow, Steve becomes the highlight of his week.

Tony doesn't work so much, anymore. He doesn't --

He can't. Not just work work, CEO work. Iron Man work. Creating work. Once upon a time he made amazing things and creations and he was called the Da Vinci of his time because his work was so fantastical it surpassed anything else.

Now, he sits in a swivel chair and spins.

He can't, anymore. Genius has left him.

He feels dull, blunted at the edges, like he's walking through a haze. Everyone around him continues to enjoy life, or at least live it. But he's fading away. Things happen too him, he is the passive, the recipient. He's an extra in his own play.

But then there's Steve.

Maybe it's because he's tired, and he's broken, and there's no more time to be picky. Maybe it's because, now, as he is, all he wants is a little kindness.

And Steve is the gentlest man he's ever met.

Maybe it's the juxtaposition. That he's a soldier, but he's also just downright nice. Tony can't, he trusts his team, and maybe even to some extent loves them. But Steve just --

Being hugged by Steve makes it feel like everything's gonna be alright.

Most days, Tony will stay in his room with the dog, who adamantly shits in the same corner to a point where Tony wants to cry. He cries most days, everyday, anything can make him start. And Steve doesn't mind. He understands, even. And it's just, Tony's never had someone who's so, who just --

It takes two weeks for him to stop stuttering around Steve.

And then, it takes another week for him to start again.

Because he loves Steve. And Steve will never love him back.

 

"You like him, then." Clint says.

Tony jerks. "Wh-," he starts "wh-wh-what? N-no. No. No, how c-c-could, why -- "

"... The dog?" Clint says. "The puppy?"

Tony blinks. "Oh," he manages "oh, oh, uh, no. No n-not really."

He puts the puppy on the floor.

"Don't push him off on my account." Clint says "No one's judging you."

"J-just a d-d-dog."

"Yeah," Clint says, voice strangely gentle. He picks him up, places him back in Tony's arms. Tony wraps around the pup, tight, and makes a noise of thanks.

It snuffles against his chin. Licks. Tony tries not to giggle.

"We just want to know if it's helping?"

"Helping?" Tony says, one eye closed as the puppy goes for the side of his face.

"I don't know, man. Calming you down."

The pup sleeps with him every night and goes toilet on the small balcony outside his bedroom. Tony has ordered it a little collar and lead and a winter coat for when it's cold even though it will probably outgrow it pretty soon and he's too small to really go out. He has a blanket that is the dog's blanket and --

"It's," Tony makes a face, tries to articulate. "Like, like the n-nightmares? Th-th-they're n-not, they're not, I mean -- "

"Not as bad?"

"Kinda."

Clint nods. Slaps him on the knee. "That's all I needed to know. Enjoy."

He leaves Tony and his little dog and the puppy noses under his shirt until Tony breaks down giggling. 

 

"Tony," he says "Tony." Steve hisses.

Tony blinks dozily. "St-steve?" He murmurs, sitting up in his bed.

"Hey," he says "you have to come see this."

Tony rubs his eyes. "See wh-what? What -- "

Steve takes his hand. "C'mon," he says "quickly. Bring the dog."

Tony snatches him up. Are they under attack? He feels like, please don't -- he feels Steve tug him along.

"What's w-w-wrong?" He stammers "What -- S-s-steve? I d-don't have a suit -- "

"No," Steve says quickly "no no, we're not under attack."

Tony actually gasps with relief. "Well w-w-what th-then?"

"Sorry." Steve says apologetically. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"S-steve," Tony says, with mild irritation "what is it?"

"Clint." Steve says, distractedly.

"You t-took me from b-b-bed for Clint?"

"Trust me, it's worth it."

Tony rolls his eyes, and wishes he's was back in his room, wrapped up tight, so he didn't have to suffer through pretending to laugh and holding Steve's hand like it means nothing to him.

"Are you ready?" Steve says "It's a good one."

"M' tired." Tony mumbles, and he holds the dog tighter.

"It won't take long," Steve says "I promise."

He squeezes Tony's hand tighter and grins in the low light and Tony knows then that if this man asked him to stay up for two days straight watching re-runs of Keeping Up With The Kardashians he would do it just to be near him.

The puppy yawns in his arms and wiggles slightly. Steve lets go so Tony can hold it with both arms.

"C'mon," he says, and opens the door.

It's dark in the main room, and Tony blinks.

"S-steve?" He says "N-no one's here."

The lights come on, suddenly, and Tony tenses, flinches back.

"Happy birthday!"

Tony stays there, scrunched up. Slowly, he opens his eyes.

Swallows.

It's just his team. His --

Team.

And they're all sitting around the table, and there's cake. And someone's actually bothered to buy candles and put them all onto the surface. And the thing is a perfect circle, all cream and jam and thick sugar sponge, and on the top there's no fancy Iron Man helmet or arc reactor design there's actual writing and it says 'happy birthday Tony!' in light blue frosting.

Tony blinks.

"You like vanilla, right?" Clint says, swiping his finger along the edge. "Jarvis said you liked vanilla."

The puppy bites at his shoulder and wriggles, because Tony's holding him too tight and he hasn't moved.

"Tony?" And that's Thor, what is Thor doing at his birthday party? "Are you... well?"

Tony had forgotten, you see. He spends everyday in bed, and he doesn't like checking the date, because it just reminds him of how much time he's losing. He's not allowed to watch the news anymore, so it's impossible to keep up.

And, normally Pepper would remind him.

"I," he says, and he feels the tips of his ears heat, burn. "I," he blinks "I - I -- I, I -- "

"It's okay," Steve says, hand a heavy weight on his shoulder. "You don't need to say anything. Just eat the cake."

He steers Tony into a chair at the head of the table. Someone puts a plate in front of him. No one is drinking. Solidarity.

Bruce cuts him a slice. "We got it done at that place on 5th."

Tony knows it. His mother used to get the cakes for her parties there.

"You," Tony says carefully "you sh -- sh-shouldn't ha - a - ave."

"Don't be silly." Bruce says in that mild tone he has. "It's your birthday."

But he needs to make them understand he's not taking it for granted. "T-too much."

"Cake?"

Tony shakes his head, although yes, that slice is way too big. "You d-d-didn't have t-to d-do this for me."

"We wanted to." Natasha says. "You gave us a home," she said, taking a bite of her cake, delicately placing her fork on her plate "and you brought us together. And this is really good cake, so if it helps, we kinda wanted an excuse to eat it."

He's never --

No one's ever thrown him a birthday party before. He's never had enough friends to really throw him a party.

Tony stares and the puppy wriggles. He sets him on the ground, and he wanders off in search of food.

"You got a name for the little guy yet?" Clint says, forcing a fork into Tony's hand.

Tony shrugs. "Dog."

"You can't call the dog 'Dog' Tony." Steve says, and Tony thinks he takes puppies way too seriously.

"Why n-not?" Tony says.

"Because he's a," Steve frowns "a little thing. He's like a person."

Natasha snorts. "You take it too seriously. I think Dog's a great name."

Tony gestures in a kind of 'thank you, I told you so' way.

"Eat your cake." Natasha prompts.

Steve drags a chair and sits next to him, crosses his legs, and takes a plate. Tony watches him out the corner of his eye.

Shifts his leg, just a little, so they can touch.

He looks away, briefly, and Natasha is staring at him. His ears heat, and he blinks, swallows his cake although his mouth has gone dry.

He chokes, coughing. "Hey," Steve says "you okay?"

Tony waves a hand and feels for some water. Steve picks a glass up from the table and hands it to him, steadies his back while he drinks.

"Fine." Tony says abruptly, terrified that the other's have seen. But they're all busy with their own murmurs of conversation, and the exchange goes unnoticed. 

Almost unnoticed.

Natasha looks away.

Tony stands. "I," he says "I, th-th-thank you, I," he stumbles back "it's, it's late. I'm g-going. To, uh. Bed."

He moves away. "Hold on," Clint says "we haven't show you your present yet."

Tony is torn. He wants to say it doesn't matter and run, but he also doesn't want them to think he's ungrateful.

But they got him a present. Oh wow. Oh that's not -- that's, he doesn't get presents, he doesn't get, not thought out gifts, he can't --

He stands there, indecisive, until Clint gets down on one knee in front of him.

Tony blinks. "What?"

"Tony," he says, and he takes out a little velvet box, a ring box "I've wanted to tell you how I've felt for... a long, long time. And I know that you're the man I want to spend the rest of my life -- "

"Are you proposing?" Tony spits, incredulous, too shocked to stammer.

"Don't be an ass, Clint." Bruce says. "It's your present. It's not -- an engagement ring. Clint just thinks he's a comedian."

"I'm fucking hilarious," Clint says, standing. "No but really, check it out."

Tony frowns "What -- " he says, fingers fiddling with the catch.

"We've all got one." Steve says. "I mean, Natasha's got a necklace, Thor's got a bracelet, Clint's got a ring, I've got dog tags, Bruce has watch." He crosses his arms. "But we figured, you're always wearing your class ring, and you like your suits, so." He shrugs.

Tony stares at the little velvet box with the two cufflinks. "And -- "

"When there's an emergency," Steve says "they glow blue. It's like this little 'A'? It's actually pretty nifty. They're all vibranium, just make sure you wear them."

"Vibranium."

"That's right."

Tony blinks. "How d-did you -- "

"You're not the only engineer in the world." Natasha says.

Tony nods. "Yeah," he says "yeah."

He swallows.

"If you want," Steve offers "you can stay? We were gonna do poker?"

Tony stares at the team.

"Or I can walk you to your room?" Steve says quickly.

Tony shakes his head. "I'll s-stay." He says.

It's worth it to see Steve smile.

 

Tony can't pinpoint when it crept up on him like it did. And he's not entirely sure why his mind chose Steve over everyone else in the world to be the subject of his affections.

Maybe it's because he's just so damn kind and Tony wants kindness. Or because he looks like a calvin klein model. Fuck, does Steve wear calvin klein? Holy shit. Now that's an interesting thought.

Mostly, it's just a crush. It's a stupid fucking juvenile crush and Tony is a sad old man. Steve deserves someone better, hell, the idea that Steve would ever like him enough for Tony to think he deserves better is far away as it is. 

Tony can just... lust from afar.

He'll get better. And he'll just.

Find someone else?

Not likely.

That's it, now. Tony's probably going to die alone.

Steve is so perfect. He's so tall, and strong, and kind, and gentle. He's such a good guy, that's the thing, he's not bitter or cruel or manipulative or hypocritical. He believes what he says and he says the right things.

He's so handsome.

Tony wants to bury his head in his hands and scream, but in the mean time he'll just settle for wordless panic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it literally nearly took 200,000 words just to reach this point i'm so sorry if you're here for porn you must be tearing your hair out by now


	89. Chapter 89

"So." The blonde woman says. "You're Tony Stark."

"I w-would offer to shake your hand, b-but." Tony indicates to the fluffy ball of fur tucked under his arm.

"It's very cute." The woman says seriously, and she moves to touch.

Dog gives a small whine, and tries to growl.

"He isn't v-very well socialised." Tony points out.

"He's a puppy. He can grow out of it."

Tony shrugs. "If he d-does he does."

"Carol." She says. "My name's Carol, thanks for asking."

Tony raises an eyebrow. "I know your n-name."

"Does Jim talk about me?"

"Who the fuck is Jim?"

Carol stares at him. "Rhodes? Jim Rhodes?"

"Oh!" Tony says "Rhodey. Yeah, no, he's... m-mentioned you."

"I'm the alcoholic air force woman."

Tony winces. "That isn't how h-he p-p-puts it."

Carol waves a hand. "Don't worry about it. I've been sober a long time."

Tony nods, and gives a weak laugh. "T-two weeks." He murmurs. He offers the tips of his fingers for Dog to bite.

"Don't beat yourself up over it." Carol says, sighing. "It takes time."

"I wish it d-d-didn't."

Carol smiles. "There are other ways to help."

"If you m-mean sitting in a circle and d-d-drinking c-coffee I d-don't think that's a g-good idea."

"For someone as high-profile as you? Probably difficult."

"Cap want me to t-talk to his friend. Sam."

"I know him." She says. "He does that. PTSD, therapy. He's a good guy."

Tony nods. "Again," he sighs "n-not really my thing."

"Are you gonna get help?"

"Sp-speech therapist."

Tony knows his ears have started to go red because Carol's eyes grow soft. "Yeah," she says "that -- yeah. But what about for other things."

Tony sighs. "If I want my j-job back," he says "I n-n-need to p-pass an assessment."

"So you're going to get help?"

"Psych -- " his mouth closes over the word "psy -- psych - ch - ch, psych, psych -- "

"I get it." Carol says quickly, and Tony swallows with relief. "But you know," and Carol sighs "if you ever need, I don't know, someone to talk to about it, I'm here."

Tony's eyes narrow, and he holds Dog close. "W-why?" He says "D-d-did Rhodey tell you t-to d-do that?"

"No." She says simply. "But I have every intention of marrying that man. And for reasons I can't fathom, the guy loves you. Worried sick about you. So I'm going to help. That, and I have experience, okay? Just, just think of me as your sponsor," Carol pauses "I think, you forget, that most people don't hate you, Tony. That most people remember what you've done. They remember that you saved the city. You'll have a hard time finding someone that truly hates you in New York."

 

"It was a mistake." Steve admits, staring at Tony.

"He doesn't put the damn thing down." Clint observes.

"The damn thing," Tony says, eyes cracking open slightly "has a name."

"Dog." Clint says. "It's called Dog. That's not a name, it's a species."

Tony chuckles contentedly. It's an artificial calm. He had panicked, before. Had seen something about prisoners being water-boarded. He'd taken some of his pills, and settled down on the couch, and Steve had watched, just to make sure he didn't go for any drink.

He doesn't stutter when he's medicated.

The little thing is splayed out across his chest. Tony is scratching the top of it's head.

"You know," Steve says "those things get bigger."

Tony yawns, and the puppy follows suit. "Good." He says.

Steve checks his watch. "Do you want to move to your bedroom?" He says "You're falling asleep."

Tony blinks his eyes open. "What about," he says, dozy. "Our walk."

"Now?" Steve says, surprised. "I thought you were tired?"

Tony frowns. "I am." He says. And then "You don't want to walk with me?"

"I thought you wanted to go to sleep?" Steve says, confused.

"I do." Tony mumbles. "But you don't want to walk with me."

Clint kicks him in the ankle, purses his lips. "Sit with him." He hisses.

Steve blinks. "Why?" He whispers back.

"Tony," Clint says "Steve's going to take you back to your room. And he's just going to wait with you to make sure you... fall asleep."

Tony picks up his head. "Does he want to?"

"Absolutely." Clint says smoothly. "Come on Steve."

Steve blinks, but takes Tony's hand anyway. Scoops up Dog and presses him into his arms. He pushes him gently down the corridor and to the elevator.

"You feeling better?" He asks.

Tony nods, and leans against Steve. Sighs heavily.

"You should let the dog walk around, you know. He'll get used to being carried."

"Like holding him." Tony mumbles.

"Okay," Steve says quietly "this is us."

They exit the elevator, and Tony makes a beeline for the couch. "Tony," Steve sighs "bed."

"Wanna sleep here."

"It's not comfortable here."

Tony lies down anyway. He puts a pillow under his head, and Dog snuggles close, pressed under his arm. 

Steve tsks, and folds out a blanket. Pours some water, and sets it on the coffee table.

Tony is watching him, from under half closed eyes.

"Thank you." He murmurs.

"For what?"

"Looking after me. Thank you."

Steve smiles, closes his eyes. "Don't worry about it." He says, reaching over and patting Tony's head.

He leans into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed. "Don't stop." He mutters.

Steve raises his eyebrows. "What?"

"Keep doing that." Tony says, voice low. "Please." He whispers.

Steve looks around uncertainly. And then he threads his hand through Tony's hair.

The dog snuffles, and Tony sighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very short one, soz
> 
> also would anyone be interested if I uploaded snippets from things that will never make it into this story? Most of them are from alternative plots and the reason they didn't make it in is because they are shockingly, shockingly depressing. Like even I had to draw a line and be like, no, I can't put this in, this too much. Me. I had to do that.


	90. Interlude

She wears a mask.

She always has, for these dealings. It would never do to have someone recognise her. And when you're dealing with her kind of high-bred clientele, there's always a chance they will.

She's no Black Widow. She doesn't delude herself. She's read that file; she's met the woman in person. She can't do a double back-flip and kill a man with her thighs.

She's more covert. She's subtle in ways that even Natasha Romanoff couldn't believe.

Whitney wonders if sometimes this is a tell-tale sign of some kind of narcissistic personality disorder. She doesn't think so; narcissists don't know how to hide that they think they're better than others. And as it happens, she doesn't think she is. She's got her head screwed on straight.

Kind of.

But now she has to choose.

Paul was a happy accident. She was going to kill him anyway. Anty doesn't need to know that she was the one who bought his intel and passed it off to him in an exchange.

Whitney paid that debt long ago. Paul leapt at the chance to have something over on Tony Stark. Tony blamed Paul, and it gave her the perfect alibi to swoon into his arms once more.

Or not exactly, because if Whitney fainted, Tony would probably let her face-plant to the floor. He's kind in that way.

Where was she?

That's right. Choosing.

Because now she's seated in front of man who's giving her a very, very firm ultimatum.

"I told you to fuck him up."

Whitney rolls her eyes, takes a deep drag on her cigarette. "I see that." She says. "And I did my job."

"Not well enough." He snaps, and Whitney doesn't even flinch.

She stubs out her smoke on his expensive leather armchair and the smell of burning cloaks her nostrils. "It seems to me like I'm not really taking orders from you."

"They hired you to work for me."

"And isn't that a happy accident."

The man leans close, and his breath is tinged with, what is that exactly, some kinds of schnapps? 

"Listen to me," he breathes heavily "do you know what I have riding on this?"

"They'll kill you." She says lightly.

"And you."

"At this moment in time I'm starting to think it's worth it."

The man slaps her face, and his ring twangs against the metal of her mask. "Don't." He hisses.

For a moment, she blinks. And then she stands.

His wrist is in her hand, and she squeezes.

"Don't," she mimics "for a moment think that I'm here because you ordered me to be. I can leave, at any time, you understand? I can leave, and I can kill you, and they won't trace it back to me. I have hundreds of other aliases with birth certificates and credit cards just waiting to be used." She tugs, and the man gasps. "So don't fuck with me."

He spins. "Roxxon's been found out. We haven't got time."

"You," she says "you haven't got time."

"Stark Industries is pushing ahead with the tower. Stark has to be stopped."

"Then just put another hit out on him," Whitney spits "since the other two times worked out so well."

"Someone's protecting him."

"Then boo hoo." She says "Fuck him up yourself. You're good at that sort of thing."

"Don't you get it?" The man says, twisting out of her grip. "HYDRA has a very, very large stake in the oil business. Do you know what happens if Dubai goes clean energy?"

"Gee," she says "I wonder."

"He has to be..." the man pauses "stopped. Slightly."

"What about you?" Whitney hisses "You have a gift for being sociopathic. Why don't you get rid of him."

"I don't want him dead, Whitney. I have other," the man considers "plans."

"Ah," Whitney says, face stretching in a smile. "Your big project. The one it was worth climbing into bed with HYDRA for."

"They're funding me."

"They're using you. You're an idiot if you think HYDRA will ever cut you a slice if that thing goes commercial."

"They want control."

"They're a dying breed. I don't believe for a second that even you are as damaged to want to try to place the entire human race under mind control."

"Well believe it." The man grits.

"That's insane. You're insane."

"If you help," he says "Whitney, if you break him, you can have him any way you want."

Whitney raises an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You know what I mean," the man says, smirking. "I know what you want. I could get him to crawl on his hands and knees for you, if that's your thing."

"... That's not what I want."

"No," he smirks "no of course not. I could make you the entire focus of his world. More than the red headed bitch, or the Japanese whore."

Whitney pauses. "You know, he's got a stutter now. How's that for broken?"

"That was me." The man says, pointing at his chest. "Those were my journalists. They were the ones who did that, not you."

That's true. Whitney has also been incredibly partial to an un-broken Tony Stark. He's a lot more fun to be around when he's sane.

But.

But if she doesn't do this, she's dead. She doesn't doubt for a second that she could hide from this man.

But she can't hide from HYDRA.

And they will kill her.

Very, very painfully.

In some crazy part of her mind she imagines having Tony do what this man says. Hold her, touch her. Telling her 'I love you', more than anything.

It wouldn't be real, but Whitney's good at deluding herself.

She pauses. "He's manic depressive." She says finally.

"And?"

"You want help breaking him. Well, here's one. He's a manic depressive. He got the diagnosis last week, and told me."

"I see. And what else has he told you?"

"His mother had an affair with Fury."

"Jesus."

"His father was gay."

"Holy shit. That explains a lot."

"The butler," Whitney says, and she bites her lip. "He doesn't know this."

"Know what?"

Whitney looks away. "Nothing." She says. "It would work against us. Nothing."

"Is that it?" He snaps "Nothing else? No love children, no, no secret gay affairs, threesomes, drugs. Is that it?"

"You played your cards too soon," she says "released everything at once and now he's getting better you have nothing else to use." She pauses. "I think," she says, and then she stops.

"What?" He says "Spit it out."

"You couldn't release this to the press," she says, and she feels sick, sick to her very core for saying, for admitting this "but. But you could use it, maybe. For yourself. As an in. To get him to trust you."

"Yes?" He says impatiently.

"The Captain," she says slowly "he... he has a very large... crush, on the Captain."

The man pauses. And then he laughs. "Jesus, Captain America?"

"No, the other Captain, yes obviously Captain America."

"Oh, Tony," he laughs "what have you gotten yourself into."

"It's not funny."

"No you're right, it's pathetic. What the hell is he thinking?"

"He's just sad."

"You can say that again."

"Don't laugh at him."

"Tall blondes, do you think he has a type?"

"You're narcissistic."

"No you're right," he says, wiping away a tear "I shouldn't laugh. It's very helpful."

"Don't be an ass."

"Look at us," he says "plotting how to take down Tony Stark, like old friends."

Whitney looks away. "Don't hurt him."

"No," he says "no. We won't hurt him. We'll just... move him out they way. Get him down, so HYDRA stops trying to kill him. We're helping him. It's the better of two evils."

Whitney smiles, and tries her hardest to believe the delusion. The best thing is the break him to a point where he's useless, and then HYDRA will stop sending the assassins. It's the best thing. The best thing.

Tiberius Stone smiles, and Whitney smiles back. They're helping him. That's why they're here, both of them.

Of course, there's that unsaid thing, too. That's hanging between them.

They both want Tony Stark, and he can't belong to two people at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaand with that, I'll be going on hiatus for a while. Or at least, just for this fic, because rl is catching up with me and i need to catch up with writing before i post anymore. It's easier that way, because if i'm writing chapters and then just publishing them it's very difficult to keep it coherent. I'll update when I have a few thousand more words written, which in fairness, shouldn't be too long.
> 
> So adios for awhile. I'll be posting some other stuff, soon, so you can look out for that.


	91. Chapter 91

Three months later:

Tony jogs in the morning.

He takes Dog, and they go round Central Park. It's late August, and the heat is near unbearable.

Summer this year has been hellish. Tony can't remember ever having had a hotter summer, not those from when he was a child, when he lived in Maine, in Boston, even in fucking California. It's global warming, he knows it, but he figures he'll probably be dead before it makes a difference.

He takes the same route everyday. The kids are all on vacation, so it's a bit noisy, but his therapist says exposure is the best thing.

And it's okay. It's routine. No one ever bothers him, apart from the occasional stare. It's New York, people have places to be. It's reached a stage where there are kids who don't know that he's Iron Man, who will never wear his costume for Halloween, but frankly it's a blessing. 

Of course, sometimes kids stop him. Ask for autographs. Pet Dog. Tony smiles, and focuses on what the therapist says. He has specific lines he uses for encounters: Hey? Really? Wow, that's amazing. Sure, of course. Be good, kids.

It's harder with the older people. They ask him how he's doing. Tell him he's so brave. Such a hero. When's he going back to work? Oh. Well, God bless. Get well soon.

Tony will be going back to work soon. He swears it. He's ready. It's just this is the first uninterrupted vacation he's had since he was twenty-one, and he wants to enjoy it.

At this point, he'll buy water from the stall. It's the same guy every morning, George. He's a good guy. Always has a treat and water for Dog.

Which reminds him, he needs to look into getting a dog-walker for when he's back at work. He prefers doing it himself, but still. He's getting big. Dog won't be able to sit in his arms much longer.

He's doing okay. The climb out of depression is... hard. You can't feel the progress. It creeps up on you. And then one day you wake up, and you realise the past week hasn't been so bad.

Steve helps.

Which is.

Awful.

Don't think about it. Just don't. There's no point thinking about things you can't have, let alone Tony's massive crush on a man practically half his age.

Maybe he's entering the autumn of his life. George Clooney does the whole sugar daddy thing, maybe he should give it a try. 

He sighs and slaps two dollars onto the counter. He doesn't need to talk to George anymore, he just kinda does it with a smile.

The stammer hasn't gone. It's still there, subtle. It's worse when he's nervous. But as he gets better, that happens less.

It's just embarrassing, really. That's all.

Dog jumps and scrapes at his leg, asking to be picked up. The vet says he needs to stop, because the dog's anti-social enough as it is. But Tony has grooves on his leg from where his paw scrape across his thigh, begging to be held.

He scratches Dog absently, thinks about something mundane, like if Janet Van Dyne's birthday is next week or the week after and can he plead insanity enough to not attend the party.

Which is when he sees him out the corner of his eye.

"Shit," he hisses, and tugs on Dog's lead. He sets off running, and curses again when George shouts after him.

Fuck. Oh fuck. Of all the parks in New York, of all the cities in America, of all the countries in the world --

This isn't an accident.

"Tony!" Ty shouts. "I know you saw me!"

Tony sprints, Dog's puppy legs struggling to keep up. His lead gets tangled where he tries to stop, to claw at Tony's leg, and Tony hisses, literally picks him up and sprints.

It gets some odd looks. In a brief moment of clarity, Tony wonders why exactly he's running. And then he turns, sees Ty gaining on him, sees where his nose is crooked from when Tony punched him in the face, and he figures a few more weird looks are worth it.

He's actually quite fast. Three years of taking care of your body does that to you, and he knows he can outrun Ty, because the last time they met he was able to chase him down his drive while he was wearing underpants with his dick hanging out, kick him in the balls, and break his nose for good measure.

By the time he gets to the tower, he thinks he's lost him. He's panting, and Dog's fluffy fur is wet with his sweat. He takes the revolving doors into the lobby, sprints to the elevator, if he can just get to his floor he'll be safe. 

He skids round the corner to the five elevators, panting, and sets the dog on the ground. Takes a moment to breathe.

"You know," Ty says, and Tony hears the sound of a lighter, the muffled tone as Ty puts the cigarette in his mouth "you could've just taken a cab."

"Shit." Tony hisses.

He turns. Ty is very well put together. He's aged, obviously, but well. There's a hint of grey on his temples, and he's got a beard, but it suits him. Very attractive. Very --

"I would hug you." Ty says. "But this suit is Armani. And you have dog hair on your chest."

Tony doesn't say anything. He's not angry, exactly. Just a bit --

Empty.

"It's blonde." Ty says, nodding at Dog. "That's a thing, with you."

Tony continues to stare. "You can't smoke in here." He says calmly.

"Then let's go to your apartment."

"No," Tony says, placid. "Let's not."

Ty looks torn, for a moment. "Tony -- " he says, and steps closer.

Tony takes a step back. "You have to leave, now."

"I wanted to see you."

"You had your chance."

Ty looks down, and he closes his eyes. "Let me explain." He murmurs.

Tony shakes his head. "No." He says softly.

"I'm not," Ty clears his throat "I'm not going to press it. I understand why you would be mad. But," he swallows "if you, if, two months ago, you had done something you really, really regretted, how would you feel?"

"Two months ago I wasn't well."

"Exactly." Ty croaks. "So if that, maybe that was you, and you were desperate. And maybe, in a fit of, a fit of something, you went to your old friend to just, for just some comfort." 

Ty swallows. "And let's say that you did something very very stupid. Because your friend had moved on, and you knew that -- hold on, Tony, hear me out. And you knew it was your fault, because you fucked up time and time again. So, you were desperate? And you didn't know what you were doing," Ty pauses "almost like, almost like threatening to kill your board of directors. You're not sure why you did it after, but at the time it seemed like a really, really good idea."

"It didn't," Tony starts, and he looks down. "Me, me saying those things to them. It didn't hurt anyone but me."

"I know," Ty says "I know. And that's why I had to leave it for so long. I knew you would never -- no one would ever forgive that. But then I saw the news, and I knew, I knew, in my heart, that you had just gone through the same thing. And that you were falling apart. And I remembered, I remembered that I," Ty looks round, and when he steps close, Tony doesn't step away "that I love you." He whispers. "I remembered that."

Tony stares at him. "Well," he says "it was very kind of you to remember. I could have done with that a few months ago."

He turns, and presses the button to the private elevator. Ty's hand slams between the two doors.

"Please, Tony." He hisses. "Ten minutes. That's all I ask for. Please."

Tony checks his watch. "I need to shower." He says. "But if you wait here, we can go somewhere else."

Ty steps back. "Thank you."

"Sure." Tony says, and the doors close.

 

Tony spends a long time in the shower.

Ty.

Ty?

It's strange, seeing him after all this time. Bigger. He's definitely filled out. He used to be so skinny.

Not skinny. Lean. Lanky, almost, but with a hint of muscles. Now he's built like a goddamn lumberjack. He's taller than Steve, definitely. Tony doesn't think he knows anyone taller that Ty.

But Ty --

Rat bastard, he thinks without much feeling behind it. He's, he's awful. Not a nice guy. At all. It's just --

But Whitney hasn't visited in so long. And it's not like --

Tony holds his hands to his eyes. It's not like, God, it's laughable to think that Steve would ever, would ever love him. And he doesn't have anyone, he doesn't, he really, really just wants to be loved.

And Ty said --

He doesn't think Ty is lying. He thinks he probably does love him, but he's twisting it. He probably wants something from him. From Tony.

But Tony's hand snakes down his chest anyway.

First, he feels the ridges of the scar on his chest. Ugly.

The firmness of his stomach.

He takes himself in his hand, sighs. His head falls back against the stone wall.

Slowly, he strokes himself. Slow, long, languorous. He feels the pleasure building in his lower belly.

Moans.

He comes, gasping. Was it Ty he was thinking of? Steve? It's hard to tell. A nameless, shapeless man. Tall, blonde, strong. Kind.

Steve, then. It must have been Steve.

God, he thinks as he turns off the water, he's getting sentimental in his old age.

 

Ty is still waiting for him when he gets downstairs.

"You were gone three hours." He says conversationally.

"Yeah, well." He clear his throat. "I was very sweaty. Which is what happens when you sprint back from central park."

Tony starts to walk, and Ty follows. "Won't you even look at me?" He says, putting his hand on Tony's arm. 

"We'll walk," Tony says "and talk. And then, I'll go home, and you can go do whatever it is you do. Thank you, Sandra." Tony says, smiling, as he takes Dog's lead from her hands and tugs him along.

"Does the animal have to come?"

"He likes walking."

Ty rolls his eyes. "You got a dog. Why? Does it replace Potts?"

"Yeah, Ty." Tony says "That's exactly why I got a dog. To replace my ex-girlfriend."

"Fiancé."

"Thanks for reminding me, I almost forgot."

Ty sighs. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. I don't know how to -- how to be polite."

"I know." Tony says, walking into the sun, shades on his eyes.

"I like your shirt." Ty offers.

Tony looks down at what he's wearing. It's navy polo shirt. One of millions mass produced worldwide. No label.

"Sure." Tony says.

"Tony," Ty says "c'mon. Let's sit down somewhere."

"Sorry." Tony says. "Can't. I have a dog."

Ty's hand on his arm. "Tony."

Tony twists. "D-don't make a scene."

Ty raises his eyebrows, and in that moment, their eyes meet.

"You wouldn't want that, would you." Ty says softly. "I'm sorry." He says. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

But now it's shifted. Now Ty is in control.

"This was b-bad idea." Tony says, looking down. "I'm going home."

"Wait -- "

"I'll see you, Ty."

"Tony!" Ty says, and he chases after him. "Hold on. Just hold on a moment."

"What are you here for, Ty?"

"You." Ty says, half pleading. "I swear, I'm here for you. I want you. I need you."

Tony feels sick. "Ty -- "

"Tony, I'm your old friend. Please. Just, lets go to your apartment. Catch up. And I swear on my life, if you want me to leave, I'll go."

Tony swallows. "I don't want to -- " He stops. Fuck. He doesn't want to fuck.

Does he?

He hasn't slept with a man in a long, long time. Hasn't been fucked since --

"I don't drink." He says. "I won't be much of an entertainer."

"That's fine." Ty says. "That's good. Please, I just want to talk."

Dog whines, and stands, digs his claws into Tony's leg. Tony scoops his up. 

"You carry that dog everywhere?"

"He's lazy."

Ty raises his hand and holds it tentatively over Dog's head. "Does he bite?"

Dog snarls, and nips at his fingers.

"Yes."

"Very funny, Tony."

"C'mon." Tony says. "Get inside. We have to talk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> right so i said hiatus but what i really meant was a day to get my thoughts in order and basically you'll be pleased to know that tony and steve have their first kiss soon like that's something i've just written also ty is a dick lord pass it on


	92. Chapter 92

Ty is still there when evening rolls round.

"And," he snorts, "and do you remember, remember,"

They dissolve into laughter again, Tony's head falling onto Ty's shoulder. He feels drunk, although he's only had the virgin cocktails Ty mixed up.

God, mixing cocktails with Tiberius Stone. It's like he's twenty again.

He feels the thready throb of his pulse in his neck. Did he really invite Ty here just to get fucked? Is that really what he wants?

What he really wants is Steve. He wants Steve to fuck him. But Tony is old and Steve is young and Steve is good and Tony is bad and he doesn't deserve him, probably.

Ty shifts, slightly, pushes Tony back up into a seated position. He giggles.

"What was that?" Ty grins "What kind of noise was that."

Tony blows a raspberry and searches for the straws with his lips.

"So," Ty says, lax smile on his face. "Iron Man. Tell me about that."

Tony slumps, sinks down the seat until he's practically on the floor. "It is what it is."

Ty nods. "Bet you didn't see life going that way, huh?"

Tony sucks his straw. "Thanks for visiting after I was kidnapped."

Ty looks away. "I thought maybe it was too fresh."

"You're right," Tony says "it was."

He sets his drink on the table, sits up straight. "But all's well that ends well, right?" Ty says.

"Where's your evidence for that?"

"You're here," Ty says "with me. On the cusp of taking back your company, becoming Iron Man again. I've been watching your team's escapades, you know. What they did in Libya? Fantastic."

"Well someone's got to save the world." Tony grumbles.

"Just not you."

Tony pauses. "I... have a plan. For a suit."

"Oh?"

Tony smiles. "I'm going to make sure that no one can take them away from me again."

"Sounding a little creepy there, my friend."

Tony smiles, and pitches forward, leans close. "Ty," he says softly, and then he giggles.

Gently, Ty props him up. "Iron Man," he says, reverently. "Who would have thought?"

"Sometimes," Tony says, fingers tracing out the ridges of his watch "I wish, I wish it had never happened?"

"Iron Man."

Tony nods, stumbling. "I wish I, I wish I could have stayed stupid. Stupid, and just," Tony waves a hand "oblivious. Nothing to worry about. I could've married Pepper. We could've, could've had that family," he ducks his head "it would have been okay."

Ty's hand grips his hair, pushes his head up. "Don't settle." He says fiercely. "Don't settle for something beneath you. SI was beneath you. Potts was beneath you. Tony, you're a God."

Tony shudders. "You shouldn't say things like that," he says "I might start to believe you."

"And wouldn't that be a shame."

"Manic depressive. More specifically, bipolar type II. Did you hear?"

Ty draws back. "No."

"Oh, don't worry. It's not infectious."

"I know." Ty says. "Are you... surprised?"

Tony shrugs. "Not really, actually. I think, how crazy is this, I think both my parents had it too, in some form."

"You have everything going for you, and literally nothing. Your genetics are appalling."

Tony snorts. "I can't disagree."

"You're on medication?"

"Seroquel."

"Does it help?"

Tony sighs. "Yeah." He says. "Yes. I'm... I'm okay. I mean, it's not a cure. I still... there are bad days. But I dealt before, I can deal now."

Ty's hand cups the side of his jaw. "Hey," he says "hey, that's it. You know, I always suspected, when we were younger."

Tony waves a hand. "I don't want to talk about it."

Ty draws back. "I understand."

"Why are you here, Ty," Tony says abruptly "really, why are you here?"

Ty sighs. "I think," he says "don't laugh."

"Right."

"I'm forty-five." He says. "I live alone, I don't have family, I don't have kids. I have money, but I have no friends? I don't know, Tony. If you were on your last legs, what would you do?"

"Develop a stammer and have a nervous breakdown?"

Ty snorts. "Yeah, that is your way. But in all seriousness, I just wanted... I wanted to see you. I wanted to apologise. And if you tell me to leave, I'll go, and I'll never talk to you again. But I don't want that. I want you. And I want -- "

"Want me? Or... want me?"

"Want you."

Tony swallows. "It's been a long time." He says, voice hushed.

"I don't want to force it. Or, or flog a dead horse. And I'm not looking for a relationship. I just want -- "

" -- Someone to hold you."

"To love me."

"To tell you that you're okay."

Ty takes Tony's chin. Smoothes his thumb over his jaw. "We don't have to date." He whispers. "It doesn't have to be like that. We can both find other people, right? People that we know we can love, and that will love us back, and that don't... don't antagonise us."

Tony snorts lightly. 

"But in the meantime," Ty says, gently taking off his jacket "let's just, let's get pleasure where we can."

"Comfort where we can." Tony mumbles, hands slipping to play with Ty's pants.

"And when," Ty breathes heavily "if, if we find other people, well." Ty presses a kiss to his neck. "Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"Friends," Tony says.

"With benefits." Confirms Ty.

Tony feels his head slipping into a haze. He blinks. "Wait."

Ty looks up.

"I was fucking Whitney."

Ty stares at him. "What?"

"Whitney. We were fucking. Just in, in interest of full disclosure."

"Why -- "

"But I haven't seen her in months," Tony says "she stopped coming after I told," he swallows "after I told her I was bipolar."

"I see."

"But that's," Tony's hands find Ty's shirt "that's not a problem for you, right? You don't mind, you don't, that my head's a bit funny?"

"No." Ty says quietly. His lips find Tony's jaw. "No, I don't mind at all."

"Sometimes it's bad," he says "sometimes I won't want to fuck."

"There are other things we can do."

"I might get angry."

"I'll calm you down."

"I throw things. I get irritable. I'm not fun to be around. I can be... I can get real cruel."

Ty mouths wetly down his ear. "That's okay," he murmurs "Tony, I've known you since you were a boy. I've seen it all."

"I'm in love with someone."

"They don't love you back." Ty says seamlessly. "But I do. Lie down. Let me make you see stars."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow ty is just such a great guy he's so supportive and lovely and he jsut wants the best for tony wow


	93. Chapter 93

Steve forgets sometimes that Natasha has to work out everyday. Which is a weird thing to forget, but puts himself in perspective. Because Steve doesn't have to actually work out; that's the whole point of the serum. It makes you perfect and frees up time to punch Nazis.

He works out, obviously. Out of habit, out of boredom. It calms him down. But it's strange, watching Natasha. Watching her put in three hours a day because if she didn't she falls behind her game.

"It's routine." She explains one day, when she catches him staring. "Feels wrong not to."

"Everyday." He muses. "What else can you do?"

"Mixed martial arts, gymnastics, ballet. Anything. Everything."

Steve leans against the wall. "You must have started pretty young."

Natasha lowers herself from the bar, drops to her feet, panting. "You know I did." She says, chalking her hands. She looks up. "Why are you asking?"

Steve shrugs. "Curious."

"Go be curious somewhere else, I'm about to do a backflip."

Steve steps back, and Natasha sets loose. It's dizzying to watch.

"I wanted to ask a question." Steve says. "About Tony."

"Of course you do." She sighs.

"I think he's seeing someone."

"Oh?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"That's... that's it."

"Well, as interesting as that is, it's not actually a question. So either you're confused, or there's something else you want to say."

Steve shrugs. "I don't know. I'm asking for professional opinion. Is it good for him?"

"Depends who it is."

"Which is what I thought."

"Why? Is it someone you don't know?"

"Oh," Steve says "no, I, I don't know who it is."

"So you've just got a hunch."

"Basically."

"You can't stop him from dating," Natasha pauses "and why would you want to?"

"I don't." Steve says, irritated.

"What, sad that you're going to be missing out on Tony time? That you're being replaced?"

"No! But, in the position we're in, it's always good to get a background check."

"Ah," she says "I see. You want me to ask him if he's dating, and if he is, background check the poor girl."

"I think so."

Natasha gives a wry smile. "You think so? You think you want to check out his new beau?"

"I want him to be safe."

"Understandable. I'll talk to him. Don't worry your head about it, Steve, Tony's not stupid."

"No," Steve agrees "but he's lonely. And that makes people do stupid things."

 

"Am I dating?" Tony says, blinking. "Where the hell -- who told you that?!"

"Steve had a hunch."

"Steve?" Tony says "Steve had a -- why," Tony turns away, back to his food "why would S-steve care if I was -- "

Ah, fuck. He did it again. Calm down, slow down. Don't get defensive, and don't be blatant.

"I don't know," Natasha says smoothly, ignoring his red ears. "You tell me."

"I'm not dating." Tony says firmly. I'm fucking my ex-best friend.

"Well, he was worried." Natasha says. "Doesn't want you going off with someone who'll just use you."

"He couldn't tell me this himself?"

"You know how he gets." Natasha says, sitting opposite him and taking a fry from his plate. 

"Oh no, make yourself at home." Tony says sourly.

"Don't mind if I do." She says, swallowing. "So did Pepper ever get in touch?"

Tony tsks, and pushes the fries into the middle of the table. "What do you think?"

"When's she coming back?" 

Tony shrugs. "Two weeks? Three? She's taking her sweet time about it."

"Will you... talk to her?"

Tony closes his eyes. "No." He says. "No, I'm not ready for that." He pauses. "I mean, what do you think? About it? About her going off, like that. She must have seen the video, did she not -- I mean, she didn't even text to ask if I was okay."

"Maybe she thought it would make it worse."

"Maybe."

"You think she doesn't love you?"

Tony sighs. "I don't know, honestly, how she can say she ever did. I mean, was any of that real? Ever? If the positions were reversed, I wouldn't -- " Tony shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. Whatever. It's over."

"You definitely wouldn't give it another go?"

"For a woman who's had zero relationships you certainly love giving advice."

"I've been in relationships." Natasha pauses. "I mean, they were fake, and I ended killing him at the end, but still. I understand people, and how the gel together."

"You've really never been in love?"

"I didn't say that."

"Oh ho." Tony says, taking a fry. "Tell me."

"You never read my file."

"I have enough nightmares as it is."

She throws the fry at his head. "Cute."

"I mean it, though," Tony shakes his head "it's not like you're not -- you're not even old. What are you, thirty..."

"Two."

"You're very young."

"Not that young."

"Pretty young."

"Are you trying to hook me up?"

Tony frowns. "I think it's weird, that's all."

"That I'm not dating?"

"That you don't -- nothing." Tony says "Forget I said anything."

Natasha smiles. "I don't know many men that can keep up with my lifestyle," she says "I don't know many men who would enjoy having someone with my history as their girl."

"So it is men, then. You're not waiting for some hot girl to come walking -- "

"Only in your daydreams."

"Literally never."

"You sound quite proud of that."

"I am, actually! Thank you for noticing! You came swanning in, 2010, I'm dying, you're wearing a tight pencil skirt and this kind of 'I'm better than you' look on your face and I still think I only tried it on once for posterity."

"This is true."

"That was incredibly irritating, by the way."

"What can I say, I'm good at my job. And I wouldn't have taken you away from Potts."

"You think you could do that?"

"I turn gay men straight. Albeit I was dressed as a man at the time, but still."

Tony snorts. "You must have stories to tell."

"Some are more entertaining than others."

"I can imagine."

"So," Natasha says "you're definitely not dating anyone."

"Look at me, Romanoff. I'm a mess. Who could I get to -- "

"Oh, stop that." She snaps. "You'll find someone."

"Alone forever."

"Okay," Natasha says "well, you always have Dog."

"Dog will never leave me."

"Although they only really live eleven years, so after that you're on your own."

Tony's eyes widen. "Why the hell would you say something like that!"

"I'm just -- "

Tony whistles, and Dog comes padding over, hops onto his lap. Licks at his face.

"That's disgusting."

"This is the true face of adult solitude, Natasha. Get used to it, it's your future."

 

"You're doing well." Steve says "Aren't you?"

Tony looks up, and grins. "Hold this."

Steve barely has a moment the think before Tony dumps the sheet of metal, letting it falls down towards Steve. He braces, just in time, and pushes it back.

"Are you crazy?"

"Sorry." Tony says, not sounding it. "Just stay there? I'm going to need that, later."

Steve sighs, and shifts the sheet. "Is this necessary?"

"I have an idea."

"Oh really."

Tony grins. "And I'm going to ask you whether you think it's a good one or not."

"Is this where I'm just supposed to say yes, or do you genuinely need input?"

"Probably the latter, actually."

Steve grunts. "Well that seems like an important conversation. So I'm just going to put this down."

He lets the sheet of metal fall to the floor and takes a seat atop Tony's desk. "Explain."

Tony sighs. "So I made suit."

"Really?"

"But it's... different."

"How?"

"It's more inside than out?"

"That makes no sense."

Tony waves a hand. "Well, that's the thing. It's experimental, I don't really understand it either." He pauses. "It's extremis."

"No." Steve says.

"No?"

"No. No, you are not injecting yourself with extremis."

"I didn't say that!"

"You're thinking it. Tony, no."

"Hear me out."

"No."

"The suit would literally be inside me, Steve, understand? Inside me. I would never have to -- "

"How does that work? Extremis is for -- "

"Maya sent me the last of the code, I've just... tweaked it."

"Tony, that sounds ridiculously unsafe."

"It's... unprecedented. I'm not entirely sure how it will work. But the benefits -- "

"Are stupid. Just build a suit, Tony. A normal suit. You don't need to inject yourself with anything, no, no organic metal matter or lasers or whatever, just -- baby steps, yeah?"

"You're no fun, Steve-o."

"Then I'm doing my job. What else did you want."

Tony sighs. "I need you to go to Jan Van Dyne's with me."

"The fashion designer?"

"That's the one."

"For what, a party?"

"It's her b-birthday."

"Tony," Steve whines "Tony, I hate those."

"So do I." Tony mutters, and he looks up. "It's the f-first one I've been to since -- since you know."

Steve sighs, closes his eyes. He gets it.

"You haven't, there's no one else?"

"P-p-pepper used to. But she's g-gone, so."

"What about Whit?" Tony looks hurt, a little, but Steve carries on. "Tony?"

"She doesn't talk to me anymore."

"What happened?"

Tony shrugs. "Doesn't like my b-brain chemistry."

Steve feels himself soften. God, can he really deny this man anything short of injecting himself with a deadly fire-breathing virus?

"Fine." Steve's mutters. "I'll come."

Tony's face lights up.

 

"Tony?" The woman with the short hair says. "Oh my God, look at you!"

Tony smiles, and allows himself to be kissed on both cheeks. "Jan," he says kissing her hand, and it's flamboyant, and so, so Tony.

"It's been too long," she says, glossing over the fact that Tony's been in self-imposed exile for the past three months "too long. What the hell is this?" She says, slapping his chest and tugging at his suit collar. "Versace? Tony, I'm ashamed."

He grins and puts his hand on the small of Steve's back. "What can I say, I'm weak. Say, have you met Steve?"

And that's when Steve realises he's Tony's deflector for the evening.

This goes on for a while. Tony, how are you, how's business, are you feeling well? Very well, thank you, starting work soon, have you met Steve?

He tries not to be irritated. Why would he be irritated? What could possibly be irritating about, about him thinking Tony was taking him out for, asked him out for some other reason, not just because he didn't want to face his peers, which is completely understandable, but still.

"Can we leave?" Steve says, out of the corner of his mouth, about three hours down.

"Last whip round and then we're good to go."

Steve tries not to roll his eyes. He knows it's difficult for Tony. He knows everyone is watching the glass in his hand, checking it's not alcohol, and whispering words into each others ears. Scrutinising his every move. Waiting for cracks.

"You okay?" Steve says.

"Peachy." Tony swallows, but Steve can see the shiver in his eye.

"Tony?" Someone says, and Steve turns.

He's big. Like, really big. Taller than Steve, probably the same amount of muscle mass. A light beard on his cheeks, thick blonde hair that's only just going grey at the temples. His eyes are a strange colour; not quite blue, a muted, milky colour, but intense all the same. He reminds Steve of --

Steve dislikes him on sight.

"Ty?" Tony says, and then he lowers his voice. "Ty?"

"Tony," the man says again "you need to -- " he leans close, pushes between Tony and Steve "you need to go."

Tony blinks at him. "What?" He says. "Have I, is something -- "

"No," Ty says quickly, "no, it's just that Potts -- "

"Potts what?" Steve says sharply.

Ty turns and looks at him, as if seeing him for the first time. "She's here."

Tony stares. "She's -- "

"Tony," Steve says, in a low voice "we should go."

"No, you shouldn't." Ty says. "Obviously you know nothing about public image -- you leave now, Tony, and everyone will know why."

"Well I can't," Tony swallows "I can't stay here, I can't -- "

"Come with me." Ty says. "Come on."

"Jesus, no." Tony says. "She hates you."

Steve stores that. Why would Potts hate Ty?

"Tony," Steve says again "worry about that later. Let's go. Call her when you get home, sort it out then, for god's sake, be rational."

"He is rational," Ty says, taking Tony's arm "and he doesn't need you speaking for him."

"What, like you?"

"Enough." Tony hisses. "Steve, stop -- Ty. Just, both of you, back off."

"Sorry." Steve mutters, muted.

"Where is she?" Tony asks. "Where did you see her?"

"She's -- " Ty turns, points. "... There."

"No, she's fucking not."

"Well obviously she's moved, hasn't she?"

"No shit, Sherlock." Tony spits. "Wow, nothing gets past you."

"Don't talk to me like that."

Tony sighs. "Right," he says "sorry. Sorry. I just -- "

"Tony?"

Steve sees Tony close his eyes. Sees his shoulders sag. His brow crease.

And then, his eyes open. He stands up tall, and stretches a smile over his lips.

"Pepper." He says, gently. "Hi."

She's tanned. Dark enough that the red burn will have faded to a brown. Her hair colour is different -- blonde -- piled on her head. She's got two diamonds in her ears and a black dress, small, simple, down her knees. Stilettos. A blue necklace round her neck, matching her eyes.

She looks fantastic, which Steve realises objectively is not helping.

Pepper blinks, and she looks like a deer caught in the headlights. "They told me," she says "They told me that you wouldn't be coming. Uh, no. I mean, that you weren't, that you didn't do these, anymore."

Tony nods as if she's said something insightful. "Yeah," he says "I. I wasn't. And then. I was."

There's a sinking feeling in Steve's gut, and he can't work out what it is.

Pepper's eyes find Steve's, and then he sees them slide to Ty.

She puts her hand on Tony's arm. "Maybe," she says "we should talk about it."

"I'm not sure now's the right time." Tony says, carefully disentangling himself from her grasp.

"If not now, when."

"Pepper," Tony says "Pepper, I didn't know you were coming. I'm n-not," Tony swallows, and Steve moves closer, just a little. "I c-can't d-do this right, right now."

Pepper looks away, and then back. "Please." She mutters.

Tony blinks. Steps back. "Maybe," he says, and his elbow hits Steve's champagne, sends it crashing to the floor.

People stare. And the pretend they didn't notice, in the way Steve's learnt rich people do best.

"No." Tony says "Steve, I'm sss-s-s-s -- " he scrunches his face in frustration, tips of his ears blushing furiously "s-s-s-ss-s -- "

"It's okay." Steve says, laying a hand on his arm. "Ms Potts, please. You can talk later. I think Tony needs to sleep."

"Are you his keeper?" Pepper asks, eyebrow arched.

"Yeah, Steve." Ty says briskly. "Are you?"

Tony wrenches his arm free. "He's n-not." He swallows. "He's not." He says again. "Stop -- "

"Tony," Ty mutters, and he snakes a hand round the small of his back, enough that Steve wants to push him away. "Let's get out of here, come on."

Tony makes a face, tries to shift out of his grip, and Ty holds tight. He whispers in his ear, and Tony relaxes.

"P-p -- " Tony starts "Pepper. I can't talk, now, okay? We can't do this here. I'm not doing this here."

"If not here, then -- "

"Anywhere." Tony says, abruptly. "Leave a note with Jarvis, and he will get back to you with, with a free date."

"What? I can't just call you?"

"You had six months to call me." Tony says quietly.

"I know." Pepper says, and she leans closer. "Fuck, Tony, can't you see? What I'm saying? Can't you -- " she draws back. "Fine." She sighs. "Okay. I get it. I get that. I'll call yo -- I'll leave Jarvis a message."

 

"Where are you going?" Steve says "Tony? What are you -- God, you're not going with him, are you?"

Tony carefully hooks his coat off of the rack, slides it over his suited shoulders. "Yes." Is all he says.

"Tony," Steve says gently "hey. You don't, don't go with him."

"Why not?" Tony murmurs. "Why shouldn't I. You're not my keeper."

"I never said I was."

"Then get away from me."

Steve blinks. "Tony?" He asks, "Tony, have I... have I done something, to you?"

Tony presses his hands into his pockets. "I'm going home with Ty."

"You came here with me."

"And? Why does it matter? You can drive, can't you?"

Steve feels a spark of irritation. "I don't trust him."

"Great. I do."

"Then you're an idiot."

Tony's eyes flash. "Oh really." He says. "Fine. Well that's. Fine."

He turns and makes to leave. From this position, Steve can see Ty leaning against a car, tie undone, lax. He waves.

Steve grabs at Tony's arm. "What are you going to with him?" He demands.

Tony wrenches free. "He's my friend, Steve."

"And I'm not?"

Tony gaze softens. "It's -- it's just familiar, Steve. Come on. When was the last time I went out?"

That's a low blow, Steve knows. But what can he say to that?

"Potts." He says. "Is this about her?"

Tony's face darkens. "Fuck off."

"Oh, there we go." Steve says to Tony's retreating back. "Just walk away, go on."

Tony gives him a one fingered salute.

Where did that go so wrong? Was it Potts? Maybe it was, maybe Tony was just on edge. Or maybe, now that he's not so... dependent, on Steve, he's just --

They always did antagonise each other.

Or not. That's not it. 

Steve remembers how he felt when he saw Pepper's face. Saw the look in Tony's eyes.

How he felt when Ty crept his arm round Tony's waist.

No. No, he can't think like that. Tony is, is straight, and Steve just hasn't been with a man in a long time. Of all the men he could have chosen to be with, his brain has latched on to Tony. Well that's fine. He'll find someone else, just get it out of his system. It'll be okay.

He's not in love with Tony, that's ridiculous. He's just protective of the man, and he doesn't trust Tiberius Stone. That's all.

He does not love Tony Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spoiler alert: HE ABSOLUTELY FUCKIN DOES
> 
> part five actually ends soon. Six chapters or so. Steve and Tony will definitely have discussed their feelings before that point. And then it's awful again, but also Bucky. And then it's magically resolved, and then, my friends, they fuck. Also then there's like, loads more, except, yes, they'll also be getting it on while trying to take take an international terroristic organisation because i'm not that cruel. Once they're together, they'll be together. I cba to break them up and give them drama tbh let Tony be happy for once


	94. Chapter 94

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for nightmares (including scenes of surgery), coercion, manipulation, panic attacks and ty.

Tony does not love Steve Rogers.

That's what he tells himself, when he takes Ty down in one. It's a comforting thought, or it tries to be. He doesn't love Steve, he doesn't love Steve, he doesn't love Steve.

(He can almost put Steve's face onto Ty's body if he tries hard enough. Like photoshopping, but for the brain)

When Ty moans his release, Tony spits it into the sink. It's unromantic enough that it brings him back to reality.

"You used to swallow." Ty says, coming up behind him. He loops his arms round Tony's waist, leans his chin on Tony's shoulder.

"Yeah." He says, and he turns on the tap. "Well, I'm out of practice. I haven't been sucking many cocks, Ty."

"What?" Ty says, breath tickling his ear "Not even Steve?"

Tony swallows, and meets Ty's eyes in the mirror. "What's that supposed to mean?" He asks neutrally.

Ty tiptoes his fingers up Tony's arm, shoulder, the back of his neck. "I've seen how you look at him." He whispers.

Tony pulls away, runs the water over his face. "And what."

"And you know he'll never want you."

Tony pauses, and then reaches for a towel. "Yeah." He says, finally.

"You could have anyone," Ty says "and you fall for Captain America. What is it with you, Anty? You're such a glutton for punishment. He's what, thirty years younger than you? That's not -- "

"Technically it's something like forty years older."

" -- Normal. Or healthy."

"What, and this is?"

"I'm not saying that," Ty says, following him back into the hotel room "at least we know each other. We have a history."

"A fucking great one, at that."

"God," Ty says "you're better when you're drunk."

"I know, right. I don't argue back, then."

Ty softens. "That's not what I meant."

"Sure."

Tony sits on the end of the bed, rubs his eyes with the heel of his hands. Slumps.

"You're so tense." Ty says, settling behind him. His hands snake round to Tony's shirt, tug at his buttons. "Let me help."

"Why did she have to be there." Tony mutters. "Why did she have to come back?"

Ty slides the soft material over his shoulders, exposes his back. He sighs. "I thought you loved her."

"I do."

Tony hears the pop of the lube cap. Feels cold slick drizzled over his shoulders.

"Doesn't seem that way." Ty notes, driving his fingers into the muscles of Tony's back.

Tony shivers, arches. "Not," he says "not in that way, anymore. I don't think." He frowns, and his eyes slide closed. "I tried so fucking hard to move on."

"I know you did." Ty says, kneading the back of his neck.

"And I, she left me, not the other way around. If, if I had it my way we'd be married by now."

"And what a happy marriage it would be."

"Shut up." Tony says with no real venom. He hangs his head. "I don't know."

"You're in love with Steve," Ty says, and his thumbs press down Tony's spine "but you think if Pepper asks for you back, you'll go?"

"No." Tony says quietly, eyes closed.

Ty's fingers stop. "You... wouldn't go back with her?"

"I wouldn't."

Ty blinks. "Why not?"

"Because she left." Tony whispers. "And if she can leave me like that, what would stop her from -- "

"I get it." Ty mutters against the back of his neck, pressing kisses down his spine. "I understand."

"Did you ever find anyone?"

"After you left? No."

Tony opens his eyes. "I didn't leave."

"What?"

"I didn't leave. You kicked me out."

"I asked you to come to Europe with me."

"After you kicked me out."

"You were a coke addict."

"All the more reason to make sure I was okay, really."

Ty pushes him, slightly, all though it's harder than Tony expected, and he hits the floor. "Hey!"

"Shit," Ty sighs "sorry. I don't know my own strength anymore."

"Sure," Tony says, kneeling up, highly skeptical that Ty has forgotten how much pressure it takes to lightly slap someone on the shoulder.

"Come to bed." Ty says. "Please. You haven't come, let me make it worth your while."

Tony brushes himself off. "I'm not in the mood."

Ty pouts. "Please, Anty. I want to see you lose your mind."

"Go watch that clip of me shouting at the board, that should do it."

"Figuratively. I meant figuratively."

"No shit."

Ty takes his hand and tugs him onto the bed. He pinches a nipple, hard, and Tony slaps him away. "Fuck off."

"If you didn't want to come, why did you agree to leave with me?"

"Maybe I thought, after just seeing my ex-fiance, I would get some comfort from one of my oldest friends."

They sit there, staring at each other, for awhile. Tension is heavy between them.

The Ty presses a kiss to Tony's throat. "I'll suck you." He murmurs "That's all. And then we can sleep."

Tony relents. He just fucking gives in.

 

"Stop," he tries to say "stop."

He's lying down. A light, in his eyes. Blue. Blue, everywhere, reflected off of everything.

He can't move. He can't speak. He can barely breathe.

Someone lifts a scalpel. It hangs, just in his vision. 

Tony screams. He swear, he tries to scream, but nothing comes out. A low rasp, a moan, like something tugging at his voice box, stopping the words from coming. 

He tries to lift his head against the imaginary force that's leaving him paralysed, but it's impossible. He's not strapped down, there are doctors in blue scrubs peering over him, adjusting the light, and swabbing his chest with acrid anti-septic, leaving a burn.

They're going to dissect him, they're going to open him up here, on this table, while he's still awake and he can't tell them to knock him out. This is hell. This is hell. Maybe they drugged him. That can happen, Tony knows, the doctors can drug a person enough that they can't move but not enough to knock them out and then they start to cut them open --

He can't even curl his fingers.

He whimpers, in his head, in his head he can hear himself whimper, but he knows that no one else can hear him. He wants, he needs --

It's not a scalpel the man's holding, but a saw. A buzz-saw, the little blade spinning. And he sets it levelly over Tony's chest.

The thing about Tony's dreams is that they're not some fantasies where he wakes up just before the worst thing happens. That's not how PTSD words. He lies there, and feels the pain of all of it, a pain he knows too well, as he's opened up.

The doctor is wearing a mask. Tony meets his milky blue eyes.

They crinkle with a smile, and then Ty reaches into his chest, and pulls out his beating heart.

He screams, and suddenly the lights are muted, low browns and golds and creams, and he can see Ty, bending over him, and he can't understand what's happening.

"Easy, Tony," Ty is saying "wake up, that's it, take it easy."

Tony slaps at him, punches. He punches his shoulder again and again and again until he finally falls back, leaving Tony to scramble to safety.

He makes it to the bathroom and slams the door behind him. Sinks to the ground.

Cries.

His fingers search over his own chest and he realises he's naked, but he hadn't, in the hospital --

There's no bleeding wound there, on his skin. Just the ugly, lumpy scarring. The usual marring marks.

No that's not possible. Ty had peered over him and he opened his eyes and Ty was still there, just staring at him, and --

He cries some more, feeling like an idiot, feeling like a mess. God, what happened? Was it a dream? Was it a dream, was it something else? Oh God he can't, he can't think --

He needs his pills. Where the fuck are his pills? The panic ones, the ones that, they're supposed to calm him down and he doesn't know, he left them in the car, the same car that Steve took home with him and he can't --

He wedges himself between the toilet and the sink and tries to clear the vertigo from his mind, tries to centre himself. He's dizzy, too fucking dizzy, and the porcelain steadies him.

A knock on the door. "... Tony?"

"Don't," Tony blurts, voice shaking "please, don't."

He sees the handle turning, and then the door just swings open slowly.

Ty stands there, dressed only in his boxers. 

He doesn't move.

He doesn't want Ty to see him like this. To see the true face of Tony Stark. Scared, and hiding by a toilet.

"You," Ty starts "you can come out."

Tony squeezes his eyes shut tight. Opens them, and Ty is still there.

"I'm sorry." Tony croaks.

"Not your fault." Ty says slowly.

"I don't -- I don't know what g-gets into m-me."

"When you're scared."

Tony nods. "When I'm," he swallows "sc-scared."

Ty moves forward, and holds out his hand. "Come on," he says quietly "let me get you a blanket. We'll order room service."

"Two men, one bed? They'll know what we're doing."

A flash of irritation. "Well you can hide, then. Not that they'll care."

Tony shivers. "I'm sorry." He blurts again. "Fuck, I'm s-sorry. I always say the wrong th-thing."

"Here," Ty says softly, and he pushes him onto the bed, presses a glass into his hand. "It'll help."

Tony gulps, and then spits it back into the glass. "Ty!" He hisses. "Why would you -- "

"One glass won't hurt."

"It fucking will."

"One glass, and you'll be able to sleep. That's all."

Tony's eyelids flicker. One glass. That's all. And then it'll just be so easy.

He downs it, quickly, feeling the guilt run down his chest with the burn of it all. Presses the back of his hand to his mouth, and swallows.

"Easy." Ty soothes, and the blanket settles over his shoulders. "It's okay."

It's not. Tony knows that. He managed, what, three months sober? God he's pathetic. He's awful. He's just --

"Maybe if I throw up it won't count." Tony says, standing.

Ty pushes him back onto the bed. "Sit, Tony."

"I'm not a dog."

"Then stop acting like one. Just... sit."

Tony feels sick. His mind is still spinning, his fingers shaking. He's not okay. He's not okay.

He doesn't want to be here.

"I need to go." He says, and he's ashamed it comes out as a whine. "Please, Ty, I need to go."

He needs Steve. He needs something, good, and pure, and real, and he can't, he can't stay in this room with the alcohol burning his throat.

"Just stay," Ty says "come on. The food's coming now, you don't want to make me pay for both do you?"

Tony feels a rising panic in his chest. He's paralysed with indecision. "Please," he says, as if that's an answer "let me go. Please just drop me at the tower."

"It's one in the morning."

"I don't care!" Tony throws off the blanket, searches for his clothes. "Ty, I can't stay."

"Why?" Ty says "You, you had a bad dream, I get it, but why -- "

"I need my own bed." Tony says, as if that's an answer, as if that explains anything, or assuages the guilt "I need to be home."

"You need me. That's what you said, you said you needed me."

"Ty!" Tony says, frantic, throwing on his shirt "It's not like that, it's not -- I need, it's not you."

"Oh," Ty says scathingly "it's not you, it's me, right?"

"Fuck off." Tony says. "Just -- we had fun, okay? You had your fun, you got me, it's fine, I'll go and, and I'll call you next -- "

"No you fucking won't. Don't fucking call me."

"Ty!"

"No it's fine, Tony. You run off to Steve, go on. Go begging him for scraps, what do I care? I fucking love you, I've always fucking loved you, and you always just throw it back in my face."

Tony blinks. "What?" he says, and he feels the cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. "What are you -- "

Ty takes his wrist hard enough to bruise. "I'm sorry." He says. "I'm fucking sorry, okay? What more can I do, what do I have to be to get you to forgive me?"

"I forgive yo -- "

"No, you don't." Ty says, looking away. "You never did."

"You slept with my -- "

Ty presses a kiss to his lips, deep enough that Tony can't pull away without Ty's teeth pressing grooves into his lips. He groans, tries to push back.

"I love you, Tony." Ty whispers. "Don't you get it? You chase after Steve, fine. But you can't sit here and tell me no one loves you, that no one wants you, that you're alone. You're not. You have me. You always had me."

Tony can't leave, after that, can he?

Can he?

When he tugs his hand out of Ty's grip, Ty lets him. Tony won't meet his eye.

"Call me." He says. "If that's how you feel, then call me. And you can prove it, and we can talk."

"Don't play games with me."

Tony shivers, feels sick, feels the alcohol burn his throat where it makes a brief reappearance. "I need to go."

"Run away."

"I don't -- I don't run away."

"You left me."

"You kicked me out!"

"You should have come back!" Ty says, and suddenly everything about him changes. He steps forwards, fingers reaching for Tony's shirt. "YOU SHOULD HAVE COME BACK!"

Tony's takes his hands, pulls them away, pushes him. "Why?" He demands "Why is that? After you left me, after you told me, told me I was pathetic, a waste of space -- "

"Because," Ty breathes "you were supposed to love me."

Tony sneers. "So that's it," he says "you can dish it out, but you can't take it. I was supposed to come running back -- " 

"Yes!"

"Well you missed your fucking chance, didn't you?" Tony spits. "You made it sound pretty fucking final, I spent the night on a park bench, and then I went to the only person left who gave half a damn, and he locked me in a room for the next three months. Even if, even if you had come to his door and begged, and wouldn't've have been going anywhere, you ass, because I didn't have a choice."

"You wouldn't, anyway." Ty says. "Don't lie, you were using me. I was your fucking coke fountain -- "  
"I left Whitney for you."

"You didn't love her."

"Because I loved you!"

"No you didn't."

Tony's head spins. He needs to get away.

"Shoes." He mutters. "Where are my shoes?"

Ty picks them up and throws them at him. Tony dodges, but one of them hits him on the shoulder.

"Get out." Ty grits. "You've fucking ruined it. I wanted one fucking night with you and you've ruined it."

"I told you, Ty!" Tony says, hopping as he squeezes on a shoe. "I fucking told you, I told you I get low, that I scream in the night, that I won't want to fuck, and you said, not a problem, I don't care, I love you, so I'm sorry, I'm really, awfully fucking sorry, if you think you're been undercut here, but I'm feeling the same way!"

Ty's face scrunches and he just waves a hand. "Whatever, Tony." He says. "Do whatever you fucking want."   
For lack of anywhere else to go, he walks into the bathroom and slams the door. Tony doesn't hang about, and just orders a cab from the lobby.

"Aren't you Iron Man?" The man says, looking in his rearview mirror.

Tony closes his eyes and squeezes the bridge of his nose. "Sometimes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next tony and stebe have a nice long conversation and everyone is happy until the end of part five and everything is really bad again. BUT I SWEAR IT'S HAPPY ENDING


	95. Chapter 95

Steve is awoken by a knock on the door.

It's not quite light yet. The sky is a greyish pink.

"Steve?" Tony hisses. "Steve, it's me."

Steve blinks. "Tony?" He says, groggy.

"Steve," Tony says "I'm sorry for being an ass, with, with Pepper. I'm sorry."

Steve rubs at his eyes. "Stop talking to the door, come in."

Tony stands there, hunched, as the door swings open. He keeps his head down, and looks at Steve through raised eyes.

"Are you," Steve squints "come in."

Tony looks awful. His shirt is buttoned up wrong, there are black smudges under his eyes. Clearly, he hasn't slept.

"Tony?"

"I didn't," Tony swallows "I didn't mean to."

Steve swings his feet out from the warmth of the sheets, stares. "Didn't mean to what?"

Tony sucks in a breath and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I swear," he says "I fucking -- I just didn't know what to do, and I was, I was panicked, I was -- "

"Tony," Steve says, coming closer "hey, hey what's wrong?"

When Tony looks up at him, Steve smells it on his breath.

"Oh, Tony." He murmurs.

Tony wails, and holds his body with his arms. "I didn't -- I don't -- "

"Are you drunk?"

Tony nods. "A little."

Not a little, a lot. Drunk enough that he would come into Steve's room in search of something, whatever that may be.

"It's okay." Steve mutters. "It's okay. It's early days."

"I fucked up."

"It was Ty, wasn't it? He made you."

Tony shakes his head. "I took it. He offered and I took it, I was so -- I wanted it to be alright again."

"Come here," Steve says, pushing him gently onto the bed. "Come here, have you slept at all?"

"Nightmare." Tony says. "I had a nightmare, and I woke up, and I couldn't -- "

"I understand." Steve soothes. "It's okay."

"Can I -- " Tony swallows "is -- "

"Is what?"

Tony shakes his head, and tries to sit up. "I can't be here."

"Tony lie down."

"No no no, you don't understand, I can't -- this is giving in, Steve, I can't -- Ty will -- "

"Ty will what?" Steve asks sharply.

Tony shudders. "This is just," he mumbles "I'm pandering to myself. I can't -- "

Steve tugs off his shoes and pushes him onto the bed. "Stay there."

"No." Tony says, lunging forward. "No, Steve, you don't understand -- "

"I understand perfectly." Steve says. "Pepper upset you, Ty got you to drink, you feel guilty, right?"

"No," Tony says "I mean, yes, but you don't, I can't stay here -- "

"Why not?" Steve demands.

"Because," Tony's eyes are hazy in the low light "because Fucknut's upstairs."

"Excuse me?"

"Dog. That's what, that's what I call him, in my head."

Steve blinks. "Sure," he says "okay."

"You're not," Tony looks up at him "you're not angry."

"No."

"You're just disappointed."

"No. I blame Ty. I blame that man. Who is he, Tony? Why -- "

"I fuck him."

Steve stares. "What."

"I'm bisexual." Tony says, frowning. "Yeah," he says, and then he pauses "yeah that sound about right."

"So am I." Steve blurts.

Tony draws back. "Oh."

"Yeah."

Silence.

"Well," Tony says, eyes panicked, slightly. "Then, then I'm just gonna get out of your bed."

"No," Steve says "stay."

Tony stares.

"Not like that!" Steve manages quickly, and he kicks himself mentally. "I wouldn't -- I wouldn't use you like that."

"I didn't think that."

"Sure." Steve says. "But, you're drunk. Uh, it's not safe."

Tony blinks. "I live on the next floor."

"Stay?" Steve asks again. "Come on. We can, we can just talk."

Tony rubs his eyes, blinks blearily. "You know, I really fucked up tonight."

"Yeah," Steve agrees "you did. Here," he pours Tony water from the jug he keeps by his bedside. "So. Tell me all about it."

Tony blinks. "What?"

Steve crosses his legs at holds his chin in his hands. "Come on," he prompts "tell me about it. What went wrong, why. It'll help."

Tony swallows. "Well," he says delicately, aware that his words are mashing together slightly at the edges. "Ty, me and Ty, Ty and I. When I was a kid -- no, when I was a young adult. Well, I mean, we were teenagers, you know, and boys dorms and all that, it wasn't -- " Tony takes a deep breath in. "What I mean," he starts again "is that Ty and I went to school together. And, it was a boarding school, so it was super, kinda," Tony gestures with his hands "you know? Like, your friends were there, they were," Tony clicks his fingers searching for the word "family."

"I understand that."

"And I was there for a long time. Ty and Whit were my best friends." He slurs, grinning slightly. "And I was, I mean, at some point in my life, I have been completely in love with both of them. Just never at the right time? And it always seemed to stagnate. I mean, boy, girl, it doesn't matter to me. So."

Steve smiles, slightly. "Go on."

Tony launches into a spiel about never really understanding what he wanted. "I mean, on the one hand, I kinda thought, well, wife, and kids, and the big house and republican galas, you know? But then I thought, you what's really cool? Like, cock. I fucking love it. So why would I -- "

"Tony!"

"But you catch my drift, right?"

"Yes, Tony, I catch your drift."

Tony sighs. "I mean," he says, voice slightly lower "it's not something a man like me can be, really."

"Bisexual?"

"When the media finds out you've had sex with a man, you're automatically gay. And it's not, I don't, I don't have anything against gay people -- "

"Tony."

"I just don't -- no, here's the thing. I would love to, to be public with what I want. But I know, and you know, that, that that's not possible. Because the second I do -- "

"People will judge you for it. I get it, Tony, trust me I get it. I went through years of it."

"And it's just so strange," Tony says frowning "I mean, I know how I feel, you know? I know what I want. That I like men. And yet people just seem to think -- "

"That you can turn it off like tap water. I know, I know, I know. Please, don't get me started. I can't," Steve sighs "yeah. I mean. In the end you stick with women just to be... normal."

"Not normal. Just accepted."

"True."

"Just to be... not shit on." Tony says, proud he came to such a succinct conclusion.

Steve sips some water. "So," he says "you and Ty then."

Tony swallows. "Me and Ty. Tiberius Stone. TS. We have the same initials. Well, not really, actually. I'm AS. But really? Ass. So yeah. Sorry, what was the question?"

"There wasn't one. Just... you and Ty."

"It's really lonely, when you're a kid. Like, I don't know. You lived with your mom, didn't you? I mean, you had a mom. And, uh, well. Barnes."

"I did, that's true."

"So when I went to college... we kept in touch, obviously. I'd been spending Christmasses with his family for years."

"That's nice."

"It was." Tony admits. "My God, Steve, you should have seen a Stark family Christmas. They were fucking tragic. My mom would be in la la land and dad would be drunk. I'd kinda sit there, and when I was old enough sneak out my dad's sherry. Jarvis, bless him, he always tried so hard to make it a real Christmas." Tony chuckles. "God, it was awful."

"But Ty?"

"It was a proper Christmas, you know? And his parents would always get me presents, which is just, ridiculously generous, because it's not a money thing, it's a thought thing. His dad took me to look at colleges, one summer. It was, I don't know."

"And he went to college with you?"

"Not with me, exactly. I started at fifteen? A bit fucked up, I know. Whitney joined me first, she got into Harvard. Ty was at Stanford, originally, doing, I don't know, something shit apparently because he dropped out."

"Oh." Steve says, because he knows what's coming next. "And joined you?"

"Jumped me while I was under a car hood. But yeah, essentially. His dad cut him off. He didn't have anywhere else. Not that I cared. It was just -- Ty."

Steve would have done the same for Bucky in a heartbeat, obviously. Bucky offered more than once to move in with him. That's just what friends do.

"How long?"

Tony shrugs. "Four years, maybe. I was dating Whit. Things started to sour. I -- " Tony looks down. "Fuck," he mutters "I mean, how much longer can I hide it?"

"You were sleeping with Ty?"

"What? Oh, yeah, obviously. No, I meant that, when I was younger. I mean." Tony looks at him. "You know, I can't believe I'm about to tell you this."

"Tony?"

"I was a user. An addict. Not just alcohol. I was -- look, I was addicted to crack."

Steve blinks. "Seriously?"

Tony nods. "Yeah," he says "yeah." He sounds so tired. "It was small stuff, a snort here and there at parties, but then it got worse."

"I see."

"By the time I finished my post-grad, I was injecting the stuff everyday. I still have the marks, here." Tony says, lightly tracing his forearm with a finger.

"You don't have to, I mean, if you don't want to talk about it -- "

Tony waves a hand. "You know, I spent years trying to hide it and I can't quite remember why." Tony snorts. "Who cares? So I did drugs, me and 90% of the teenage population in the eighties."

"I never realised, though." Steve says. "I mean, that's a pretty big thing to... find out about someone."

"I trust you."

Steve looks up. "Really?"

"Yeah." Tony says, softly. "You looked after me. I remember that. I mean, I know I was kinda out of it with some of the meds, but still."

Steve smiles. "You know you have friends in us."

"I do." Tony agrees. "That's right. And if I wasn't sure before, I am now."

They sit there, for a while. Tony hiccups.

"So," he says "Ty and I moved to California. Am I, is this boring you? Sorry, I can stop. I know it's not fun hearing about other -- you're a great listener."

"I want to listen."

Tony sighs. "So we moved to California. I was out of my mind most of the time. I was bad, not just with the drugs, but just bad to the core, you know? I treated people like shit. I did awful things. All I could think was, was where the next hit was gonna come from, and I didn't care about anyone else."

"Except Ty."

"True," Tony admits "but I think now it's partly because he was the one supplying me, you know?"

"What?" Steve asks, sharply.

"He got me the coke. I couldn't -- I don't know, I was lazy, too high-profile, whatever. Ty would get it for me."

"In return for what."

"Sex, mostly."

Quiet.

"Tony -- "

"Sorry," Tony says "I've said too much, haven't I?" He makes to leave "Sorry, I -- "

"Stay," Steve asks "I was just going to ask where your parents were?"

Tony stares at him and slowly sits. "Uh," he says "well my mom was, I don't know. She kinda just drifted, you know? At the mansion, probably, looking after dad." Tony sees Steve's questioning face. "He was sick," Tony explains "his liver conked out, finally. Uh," Tony taps his head "Alzheimers." He murmurs. "By the end, the last time I saw him," Tony squints, thinking back. "He kept getting me confused with my uncle. Which was, you know. Didn't stop us from fighting."

"You fought a lot?"

Tony considers. "I don't think he -- when I got older, we didn't see eye to eye. He was a fucking dick." Tony says. "Although, with hindsight..." Tony sighs. "He did what he thought was best, right? He was nearly eighty when I was twenty-one. There wasn't really room for a relationship."

"He drank a lot."

Tony closes his eyes and laughs, slightly. "Yeah," he says "he drank. But so did mom."

"Both of them."

Tony nods slowly. "Yeah. Poor people. They never got help, and they just wasted away."

"So," Steve asks "who, you know. Looked after you?"

"The butler."

"Jarvis."

"Right."

"And you," Steve laughs "God, you named Jarvis after him, didn't you? That's so you."

"I was drunk at the time."

"Jarvis is dead?"

"AIDS. He died, maybe, a few weeks before my parents. But he left before then. I don't really remember -- I don't know. He left."

"Didn't leave an address?"

Tony's face darkens. "My dad wouldn't give it to me."

"Why not?"

"I don't know, and I don't care." Tony says stonily. "I was so... furious. I've never been more angry in my life. And we argued. It was Christmas? I tried to throttle him, he bust a scotch bottle over my head." Tony sighs. "Typical."

"Jesus, Tony!"

"He bought me a car, too. To try and cover it up. We'd been arguing about it, because he refused to get me a proper car and I had to scrape together for this piece of shit. And then he gets me this fucking Ferrari. Just -- don't even get me started, I'm still so angry."

"Couldn't you buy your own?"

"Massive buys had to be run past dad, or Obie, but basically, no. He wasn't talking to me. The first few years of college, I didn't see him at all. There was literally a three years period where I heard and saw nothing of him."

"He wasn't talking to you?"

"I took engineering, and he wanted me to take business. It's a long story. He sulked. I mean, obviously, he was right, you know? I could take engineering anywhere. But that's not the point. My mom had to force him to pay for the fucking fees." 

"Your mom couldn't pay, obviously."

Tony snorts. "She didn't even leave me a dollar in the will. Said, explicitly, that absolutely nothing of hers was to go to me. I don't know, man, they were just so -- what was wrong with them? It's not that, you know, they're my parents, and I guess I, well I wouldn't say I loved them, but there was something there. I just, genuinely, don't understand why you would have a kid you didn't want. It's not even like they loved each other, I mean, my dad was obviously a raging homosexual."

"Maybe he just wanted a kid."

"Then he would have kept me at home. He would have wanted me at home." Tony waves a hand. "Whatever. It was fine, in the end, right?"

Steve smiles, slightly, and watches Tony rubs his bleary eyes. The panic is less, now, he can tell. Talking has helped. When Tony sees Steve looking, he smiles.

"Tell me more." Steve says.

"What?"

"More. Just, what about school. What was that like?"

Tony blinks. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. 

"It's not fun listening to me talk."

"It's interesting." Steve insists. "No, really!" He says when Tony snorts.

"Okay," Tony says "okay fine. So, uh, right. School. It was this place, Harwell. One of those old establishments, educated a few presidents. The leaders of tomorrow."

"Did you like it?"

"I hated every single second. Oh my God, Steve, let me tell you, if you ever have kids do not send them away. Just don't do it. Absolutely not. It's the worst thing you can do, literally the worst. It's a bit different now, you know, boarding schools have mandatory pastoral care, you can't really send six year olds away. But it was different in my day. Absolutely zero fucking boundaries. Awful. The worst thing you can do."

"You were six, then."

"About that, yeah. I think, I think my parents just, they realised they couldn't look after me. So away I went."

"With Ty and Whit."

"Yup."

"College at fifteen?"

"Yeah."

"Your parents died when you were...?"

"Nearly twenty-one. I was in rehab, when it happened."

"Oh."

"Yeah." And now, for the first time, Tony shows real discomfort. "Uh, Ty kicked me out. It got too much for him, so."

"That's shit, Tony."

"Well, he had a point. But I had nowhere else to go, and," Tony sighs "my parents didn't want me, although in hindsight, they would have taken me in. I was too proud for that, though. So I walked to Obie's, all night. He sat me down, gave me some coffee, gave me a bed." Tony rubs his hand through his hair. "And then," Tony sighs "he locked me in a room for a month until I got it out of my system."

"That's not how you deal with that sort of problem."

"Maybe not, but it worked. After, he paid for the proper rehab too."

"You don't owe him anything."

"What?" Tony's brow furrows.

"Just because he manipulated you when you were twenty doesn't mean he's -- I mean, he paid for it to make you dependant. I think. That's what it looks like. You don't need to give him dues, there are none."

"I don't."

"Good. Just in case, then."

Tony is staring at Steve. "Why would you think -- "

"I don't."

"Then why -- "

"Nothing. Just, keep talking."

Tony yawns, checks his watch. "Pepper." He mumbles.

"What?"

"She came back, at the -- oh wait, you were there. Yeah. Uh."

"What are you going to do?"

"Cry, maybe. I'm not, I'm done with her."

"Really, though?"

"I, well, honestly, I think I have my eye on someone?"

Steve sits up. "Really?"

"Yeah," Tony sighs, sadly "they're not really... I'm not their type."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Steve says, trying to bite down on, is that, is that jealousy?

Tony snorts. "Yeah." He says. "Sure."

They talk till the sun comes up and Tony finally drops down into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i mean yeah there we go rlly


	96. Chapter 96

Tony wakes up in a strange position.

He's lying horizontally across the bed, drool drying on his face. Someone's bundled a sweater and used it as a pillow to prop him up. There's a cotton blanket thrown over his body, and his shoes have gone.

He blinks, eyes crusty, and smacks his lips, tasting the bitter alcohol. Well he fucked up, didn't he. That was, on a scale of one to ten, at least an eleven.

He groans, bringing his arm up to check the time. Two in the afternoon. Brilliant. 

He pushes himself up, squinting in the too bright light. "Jarvis?" He croaks.

"Here, Sir."

So he is definitely home. He definitely --

He definitely remembers Ty's. And he remembers the intention of coming home, getting waylaid, drinking, and then --

Oh, shit.

Oh shit, oh fuck, oh hell.

He went to Steve, didn't he?

Tony sits up abruptly, looks around. A neat room, clothes hanging on a hook behind the door, a chair, some books, oh fuck, fuck shit tit balls on a cock this is Steve's room, he --

He and Steve didn't...

Did they?

No, he'd be able to feel that. Besides, Steve would be too gentlemanly to just leave him. He fumbles around, searching for his phone. What did he tell him? Shit, he can't remember anything, at least, not everything. Oh shit tit fuck bollocks why is he such a magnificently divine piece of shit why would he --

There's a glass of water on the side table, and a little note. Tony rubs his eyes, scoots forward.

Tony,

You said you needed to take two. You left them in the car.

Love, Steve.

Tony stares blearily at his pills, and then at the note. Takes two, and downs the water.

He takes the note, and puts it in his pocket. Searches for his shoes, yawning. God, he wishes he could remember what he said. He needs to know every word that came out of his mouth and in what order.

He heads down the corridor and up the elevator, hoping to bump into Steve on the main floor. It's empty, except for Clint, who's making pancakes.

"Breakfast." He says, giving Tony a small once over.

"It's nearly three o'clock."

"Says you. What time do you call this?" He glances at Tony again. "The morning after?"

"Where's Steve."

"Jogging? You look like shit."

"I was drinking."

"Tony."

"Yeah, well it won't happen again." He rubs his face. "God, I'm so fucking hungover."

"Take an aspirin."

"I'm good. Where's Rhodey?"

"Now that you mention it," he says "he was looking for you."

"Oh really. Brilliant. Fuck I bet he talked to Steve. Everyone's talking to Steve."

"Uh, I don't think so. Actually, he seemed pretty -- I don't know, man, you should find him."

Tony blinks. "Why?"

 

"And I fucked up." Rhodey moans. "Oh man I fucked up so, so bad."

Tony stands slouched against the wall. He squeezes the bridge of his nose. "Okay," he says "okay, first of all, I need you to know that these sunglasses aren't a sign of disinterest, it's just way too bright in here. Secondly, Rhodey, and I wouldn't lie about this, but I don't think you've fucked it at all."

"She's left, Tony. She's asking for a transfer. Fucking California." He grits, and then throws his phone at the wall. "FUCKING CALIFORNIA!"

Tony winces. "Okay," he says "just, not too loud. Listen, why did she say she was going?"

"We argued."

"About what."

Rhodey sucks his teeth. "Things, Tony. Stuff, man."

"You're going to need to be more specific."

"Iron Patriot."

"What about it?"

"Commitment."

"To... Iron Patriot."

Rhodey rubs his head. "Yeah."

"She doesn't want you to be... Iron Patriot."

"No."

"What?"

"She wants me to be -- "

"Iron Patriot, I get it. So what's the problem?"

Rhodey looks at him. 

Tony blinks.

"You don't want to be Iron Patriot?!"

"No!" Rhodey says. "No, no. I don't want to -- man, I want to be War Machine."

Tony settles back against the wall. "Well I mean, that's, okay."

"No, it's not. It's complicated. Iron Patriot's on the government's payroll. Tony, I'm not down with the government right now. Not when everyone's being dragged for terrorism. Next thing we know the secretary of defence is a fucking Nazi, Tony. That's not -- I can't do that. I can't work for that. Every mission might have an agenda behind it, who am I really working for? HYDRA? Have I been working for HYDRA all along? Me?"

Tony nods. "Well it's an understandable complaint."

"But Carol -- we're both airforce. She thinks the military brings security. She's thinking of, you know, the future. Good pensions. That's what she's thinking. Am I wrong? Or is she?"

"Well, you're both right." Tony admits reluctantly. "I mean," he exhales "you've got to think ahead. But," Tony pauses "you're right about the government. You're right. We've cut our ties, and maybe you should too."

"What are you saying?"

"Drop Iron Patriot."

"Tony, it's my job. We don't just get to -- "

"Work here instead." Tony says with a shrug.

"And what exactly would I be doing here?"

"I thought you said you wanted to be War Machine?"

"In... Avengers tower."

"No, War Machine, in the Avengers. I don't, how are you not getting this?"

Rhodey blinks. "You want me to be an Avenger."

"Obviously? That is, that is what I'm asking. It's a good salary, I would know, I'm the one who set it. That's stability, right? And I mean, you'd probably be doing ops with Steve, you know, lots of Middle East stuff, but you have experience and it's not like -- oof."

Rhodey is hugging him really, really tightly. "It's not," Tony says, trying to push him away "it's not that big a deal."

"But do I get an action figure?" Rhodey says, muffled in Tony's shoulder.

"Uh," Tony awkwardly pats his back "well, yeah, because -- "

Rhodey pulls back, squishes his cheek, and plants a kiss on his forehead.

"You're fucking brilliant."

"Well I'm glad you're happy but your girlfriend has left you, so -- "

"Yeah but I can sort that out now, can't I?"

"Can you?"

"Sure. I can do that, I'm good at that. Fuck me." He exhales. "Today's been stressful."

"Tell me about it."

"You were in bed for half the day."

"True." Tony admits, sighing. "But -- "

"But what?"

'I was out with my ex-boyfriend last night, you know the one, he kicked me out? You used to hate him? He once planted your jacket with coke in an attempt to get you kicked off your course?'

"Nothing." He says. "I got pissed."

"Baby steps?"

"Exactly." Tony says. "Right? It's all just... baby steps. One step at a time."

Rhodey softens. "Look, man -- "

"It's fine." Tony interrupts, clearing his throat. "It's fine. No more drinking." He says weakly.

Rhodey's lips tighten. "I was going to say, if you need anything. I'm here."

"I know." Tony says quietly. "Yeah. I know."

 

"You know what I really want." Tony mumbles, mouth stuffed with pie. "A scotch. With ice. You know what I would do for a scotch with ice?"

"Stick it up your ass." Clint says, shuffling his cards. "Eat your damn pie."

Tony sighs, and lays down a card. "Queen of hearts."

Natasha tsks. "Oh dear."

Shit. Tony tenses, and he feels everyone around the table do the same.

"Are you ready?" Natasha says.

"Just do it." Steve grunts.

"I can't be held responsible for any potential injuries."

"Go." Clint hisses.

Carefully, slowly, Natasha lays down her card.

"SNAP." Steve says, slapping his hand down over Tony's "FUCK YOU THAT WAS ME!"

Tony blinks. "You've broken my hand. Oh my, oh my God, you've broken my hand."

Steve stares. "Oh God," he says, moving back "oh God, I'm so sor -- "

"Fuck you." Tony says, swiping the cards away. "I win. The rest of you can leave, now."

"That's cheating." Steve says, standing. "He's cheating. Someone do something."

"He did put his hand down first." Bruce notes seriously, sitting some way away. He always invigilates, because he's prone to kill someone if things get too tense.

"I did." Tony says, tucking the cards, and bill, into his back pocket. That's the game; for every card you put down, you give ten dollars.

"It's not like he needs the money." Clint protests.

"It'll all go to charity." Tony says, sipping his diet coke. "The charity, of course, being me."

"Of course," Clint says "for the nose job. No, that understandable."

Tony gapes at him. "Wow, rude. Fuck you too, short-ass."

"Boys." Natasha says, folding away the rest of the cards. "When did Jim say he was coming?"

"He's not. Flew out to California."

"How's that going?" Bruce asks.

Tony winces. "It's... going. It's definitely going. Just not, maybe, how he'd hoped."

Bruce makes a sympathetic face. "Yeah well, I'll toast my non-alcoholic beverage to that."

Their glasses clink, and they drink.

Tony sighs. "You forget nothing's fun without alcohol. Or weed."

"I actually have some upstairs." Clint says. "If you're game."

Tony snorts. "Haven't smoked weed since I was twenty-one and I don't intend to throw that away now."

"You've gone twenty-five years without weed?"

"I'm like a monk, Clint, haven't you got the memo? No sex, no drugs, no drink, I'm a fucking puritan."

"Funny." Clint says, Steve meets Tony's eyes over the table.

They flick away.

"You still smoke, right?" Clint says, getting out a pack. "Or is that forbidden in the Tony religion?"

Tony rolls his eyes. "Fine. Give me one."

He takes a light and passes the pack in Natasha's direction. "So," he breathes "how are we all doing?"

The table rattles, and there's a heavy thunk. Tony jerks, and spins, along with the rest of the team, to the landing pad outside the window.

Thor comes in, a small woman under his jacket. Thor, apparently, has impeccable taste, because he's wearing a black turtleneck and a red Versace camel hair coat and it's Tony's jobs to know these things just because.

"My friends," he says, and then clears his throat. "This is, uh, my friend. And, we will be departing now. If," the woman giggles "if for any reason you need me, you should, perhaps, knock on the door in the, the room that I sleep. Good evening."

"Have a good one." Tony says, sighing and turning back to the table.

"Was that Jane Foster?" Bruce asks, squinting after them.

"Probably." Clint says.

"See that's what I need." Natasha muses "Someone with a massive hammer who can take me to Japan and back in less than an hour."

"Well, we live in hope." Steve murmurs, sipping.

"Oh sure," Tony says "I mean, who's better to give advice, really. You're sitting with a group of four men, all of whom are single."

"I'm not single." Clint says, inhaling his smoke.

"Bullshit."

"I'm not bullshitting you." Clint says, deadly serious. "I'm seeing someone."

Steve blinks. "Congratulations."

"And who's this mystery woman, then." Tony asks.

"Well," Clint says, leaning back. "I wouldn't, you know. Call it a relationship, necessarily."

"Okay, fuck buddies. That's still more than the rest of us are getting, no offence, guys."

"None taken." Bruce says morosely.

"You know, I think you might know her."

Tony blinks. "This isn't some prelude to me finding out you're, you're screwing the ghost of my dead mother or some equivalent, right?"

"No, but that's some good evocative imagery. It's, uh, Janet, actually."

"Van Dyne?" Steve asks.

"Yeah."

"Oh, she's lovely." Natasha adds. "Good work."

"A bit out of your league, maybe?" Bruce mentions.

"Yeah, I mean, I'm trailer trash and she's, I don't know, not. Like, she had a pony and everything, it's brilliant."

"I say go for it." Natasha says. "I can toast to that."

Their glasses clink. Tony sips down the last of his coke.

Best not to mention anything, really.

"So where's this been happening?" Steve asks. "Do you go there?"

"Mostly, yeah. It's, you know, fun."

"Better than dying alone." Tony puts in.

"You're not going to die alone." Steve says, exasperated.

"That's what I have to keep telling myself." Tony sighs. "I wish I had something to drink."

"I dated someone like Janet once." Steve muses. "Very similar."

"Oh?" Tony says, raising an eyebrow.

"First girlfriend." Steve adds. "I was about half the size I was now."

"Pre-serum, then."

"Yeah," Steve sighs "I wonder what happened to her."

Natasha chuckles. "I've never actually had a boyfriend before, so."

"You're shitting me." Tony says. "I thought you said -- "

Natasha glares, and Tony steals Clint's drink.

She leans back. "I was fourteen the first time I fucked a man, and he was twice my age. First mission."

There's a long, awkward silence.

"Jesus," Tony mutters "this got heavy fast."

"Well," Bruce fills in smoothly "I was seventeen, and it was very romantic."

"Oh yeah?" Clint snorts.

"Yes. There were candles, and rose petals, and it was very sweet." He grins.

Tony chuckles. "That sounds like you."

Steve sighs. "We ended up having sex in her apartment and I had to hide outside on the balcony when her dad came in."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah." Steve says. "Historically, not great."

"What happened?" Tony asks, grinning. 

"Well," Steve says "let's see, I ended up scaling down the side of the building wearing her mother's apron, and when I got home, my mom literally hit me round the head with a slipper, so, all in all, it wasn't too bad."

There's a small round of cheers, and Tony refills his glass.

"What about you?" Clint asks. "Wait, let me guess: boy's shower room, boarding school, you were... thirteen. No, fourteen."

"Ah," Tony says "not quite." He sips. "Good guess, though."

"Nineteen with your professor."

"Colder."

"Sixteen in a group orgy."

"I wish I could say it was true."

Clint considers. "Are you, in fact, still a virgin?"

Tony chokes on his drink. "Look," he says "I was fifteen, I think, or fourteen, and it was at one of my mom's galas. We went into one of the upstairs rooms, fucked around a bit, she left, I went back to school, and we're still in touch today."

"What was her name?" Natasha asks.

Tony blinks. "Jan -- Janice."

"Jaaanice." Natasha says. "Nice."

"You can't make fun of someone with a speech impediment." Tony adds.

"Janice." Natasha sings. "Janice. Jan. Jan? Janet. Janet? Janet."

Tony hastily swallows the rest of his drink. 

Clint stares at him. "Oh for fuck's sake." He spits. "Is nothing sacred."

Tony hiccups, and pushes his glass away. "I told you that in confidence." He says, pointing at Natasha.

"Whoops."

"Don't worry, Clint." Steve sighs. "I've been there."

"Is there anyone you haven't fucked? My God, these poor women." Clint groans.

"If you ask her I'm sure she'll say it was more than satisfactory." 

"Oh yeah, and how exactly do you see that conversation going? Hi Jan, wondering if you're up for it tonight, on a completely unrelated note, on a scale of one to ten how do you rate Tony Stark's sexual prowess?"

Tony laughs, and Steve laughs, and it's all very nice and familiar. They continue this way for a while, and everything is good.

Eventually, Tony yawns. "Right," he says "I better get going."

Steve looks at him. "Why?"

Tony smacks his lips. "Well, my friends, I have a psychiatric assessment tomorrow at eight pm I need to spend the whole day preparing for. And by preparing, I mean sleeping in, and having a massive early dinner."

Steve shakes his head. "Why didn't you say?"

"It's not a big deal."

"It sounds like a big deal." Bruce says.

Tony sighs. "If I want my job back, they need to prove I'm, you know, working at 100%."

"Do you want me to -- do you want us to come?" Steve stutters.

Tony smiles. "Thanks for the offer, but it's upstate. The fancy health lodge? No? Whatever. Well, I won't be seeing you tomorrow, so, bye."

"Wait," Steve says "I'll come too. I might as well turn in."

Tony tries to hide his smile behind his hand when he scratches his nose. Natasha stares at him knowingly, and he looks away.

"Right," Steve says "lead on. 'Night, guys."

"Have a good one." Clint murmurs, and the rest of them mutter goodbyes.

"Why didn't you tell me about the meeting?" Steve says quietly as they make their way to the elevator.

"I didn't want it to be a big deal."

"You could have mentioned it."

"What if, uh," Tony says as the elevator doors close. "What if it doesn't, you know. Go well."

Steve's hand brushes his elbow, slightly. "It will."

"Yeah, but." The doors open, and Steve steps out. "But all it would take is, I don't know. A stammer. And that's all it would -- "

"You won't stammer. And you won't fuck up. You've been taking your meds?"

"Of course."

"Then you have nothing to hide."

Tony swallows. "It's just," I love you, I really fucking love you.

"What?"

"Nothing. I don't know. Maybe I'm worrying over nothing."

"You have a tendency to do that."

Tony smiles, a little. "Yeah," he says "yeah, I know. I -- "

Steve kisses him. It's soft, and slow.

Tony's eyes close, and he leans into the touch. His hands stay useless by his side, and Steve's fingers curl loosely round the back of his head.

He draws away. "You'll call me." He says. "As soon as the appointment's finished, right?"

Tony stares, dumbly. He nods.

"I hope I haven't -- I hope you wanted that." Steve says. "If you don't, I understand."

Tony swallows. "Kind of spoiling the moment."

"You -- "

Tony kisses him, and this time, he takes his cheeks in his hands. He feels Steve's strong palms wrap against his hips.

They pull away. Steve smiles. "I wasn't sure it would be welcome." He admits. "And I spent so long trying to tell myself that -- that I haven't been thinking about you."

"You think about me?" Tony says, eyes wide.

Steve presses another kiss to his cheek. "You like it, then."

"I like you." Tony says quietly.

A thumb is run over his head. Steve's nail scratches gently at the point on Tony's head where there's a raised scar just visible, under his hairline, from where his father hit him with the bottle.

"Tomorrow," he says again "call me, after the session. Promise."

"I promise." Tony breathes.

Steve steps back, out of the elevator. Presses the button, and the doors slide closed.

Tony stumbles and falls back against the railing. "Jarvis," he says "J was that real."

"It was Sir."

"Oh my God." He breathes. "Oh my God, oh my God."

"Sir, if you are panicking -- "

"I'm not panicking," he says, stumbling out onto his floor. "Not -- J, I'm just happy."

"I'm glad to hear that, Sir."

"What did he say, again? Exactly? I can't remember."

Jarvis plays the recording again as Tony scratches behind Dog's ears. "Oh my -- Jarvis!"

"Sir, as happy as I am for your excitement, it's prudent that I remind you that you have an assessment tomorrow -- "

"Right." Tony says. "Right I'm going to bed. I'm going to bed. Come on, Dog."

But Tony doesn't sleep that night. He stays there, curled, his dog under his arm and his skin buzzing where Steve had touched and for the first time in so, so long, he is happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *angels come down from the heavens and sing in rousing chorus* *a million puppies come raining from the sky* *your favourite singer emerges from a between clouds of fairy dust* *whispering* they kissed *puppies pile over you* *glitter clogs your airways* STEBE AND TONY KISSED
> 
> also apologies for the next chapter
> 
> also yay! 1000 kudos!
> 
> but yeah really sorry


	97. Chapter 97

Steve doesn't know, exactly, what made him kiss Tony Stark.

Does he regret it? Absolutely not. 

Does he wonder why he did it? A little bit.

Sure, he's been thinking Tony was attractive for months. Even through the whole unpleasant business. He enjoys his company, his smile, his smell. Is that weird? It sounds weird.

Point being, Steve doesn't regret if for the world.

He doesn't want to deny himself any longer. If he wants Tony then he will let himself have him; fuck the consequences. Tony makes him happy, and maybe he even makes Tony happy too.

It's been so long since Steve has loved. He had almost forgotten the symptoms.

 

"Jarvis," Tony says, hands gripping the wheel. "Dial Steve."

The ring tone fills the car and Tony swallows down nerves.

"Hello?" Comes Steve's voice. "Tony? Tony? Is that you? What did they say."

Tony pauses. "I got it."

"What?"

"The test, the assessment, whatever, I passed."

"Oh thank God," Steve says, and he exhales, and then laughs. "Oh thank fucking God."

Tony laughs along with him, feeling the tension leach out of his body. "It went okay." He says. "It was good."

"I knew it." Steve says warmly. "We all did."

"Yeah well vote of confidence aside it's just nice to know that I've got it under control again. I've got everything under control again."

"See?" Steve says "I told you it would get better."

Tony watches the lights of other cars flash through the forest. "Well you were right about this one. Not about -- you're not always right, so you can wipe that smug grin off your face."

"I'm not grinning."

"Steve I hate to break this to you but I can see you on the screen. Jarvis is playing your front cam."

"Keep your eyes on the road."

"They're on the road. Although you should stop grinning, it's very distracting."

"I can imagine," Steve says, and then pauses. "So you're not... you're not having second thoughts, are you?"

"What, me? Steve, I'm not the one I'm worried about."

"I feel like I kinda just thrust myself on you."

"I wanted you to."

"Really?"

"Steve, I -- never mind. This isn't the right conversation for the car."

"But we will have this conversation."

"As soon as I get home."

Steve clears his throat. "It's just, I want to be happy, you know?"

"I understand."

"I don't want to hold back anymore. I find you, not, not displeasing to look at. And I don't find you entirely unfunny, or unkind. So, I thought, I mean." Steve sighs "I need to know you want it too."

"Steve," Tony says quietly "I want it more than you can ever imagine."

"That sounds," Steve gives a nervous laugh "that sounds promising."

Tony's hands tap against the wheel. "Ty." He says.

"What about him?" Steve says, voice irritated, slightly.

"We were -- doing things."

"Well," Steve says "I mean. If, if you want you can still... do things. I mean, I won't pretend that I'd rather have you, uh, to myself, or maybe that's just me being traditional -- "

"Don't be -- I don't want Ty, Steve."

"Oh thank God."

Tony bites his thumb. "It's just about how to tell him."

"Stick it on a postcard and slam it through his door?"

"Could just text, really."

"Postcard seems more personal."

"Or," Tony inhales, leaning against the window, one hand on the wheel. "I could just tell him. Ask him for a coffee and say it's over."

"And how do you see that going?"

"I have, like, this genuine feeling he might punch me? Mind you, we argued, before -- you know, on that night."

"I remember."

"It might already be over."

"That's true." Steve notes. "Tony, you do... remember, what we talked about, right?"

Tony bites his lip and his eyes flick to the camera. "Not entirely."

"It's just, I don't want there being things about you I know that you don't know about."

"Well whatever I said must have worked, right?"

"Well, yeah," Steve admits "it was a good conversation."

"Steve," Tony says "don't worry about it. We can talk about it when I get home."

"Okay." Steve says. "Lets, I can do that. Maybe, you can come to my floor. Obviously, I won't, you know, crack out the wine, but we can do dinner. Maybe. I mean. Maybe. If you want. Only if you want," he adds quickly "I don't, you know. Maybe."

Tony feels his heart swell in his chest and he turns his head out the window to hide his grin. "That sounds," he says "Steve, that sound fi -- "

He doesn't see car coming.

The impact to his hood leaves him jerking forward, hitting the wheel with bone shattering strength. His chest is crushed almost instantly and he can't work up the breath to scream.

Following the momentum, the car flips, rolls once, twice, and each blow reverberates through his broken bones. His head smashes against the window, and it goes slick with blood. His shoulder is dislocated. His leg was pushed forward in the crash, the bones cracking along the way. But he doesn't feel that, because his spine is broken.

Somewhere, in the shock, and the agony, and black, he sees a beeping red light, and he hears Steve's voice. It doesn't matter, because he'll be dead in less than a minute unless he receives immediate medical aid. He is aware that he has to get out the car, but his legs can no longer move, and his chest is too mangled to act.

There's rain, spattering against the metal of the car. It hits him, too, where it falls from a broken window. His head is sparking, and it's not connecting properly. The pain, he reasons, could be worse.

"... ony! Tony!"

Footsteps, heavy, thick on the gravelled ground.

The window is broken and jagged, glass sharp around the edges. 

A shape, blocking out the dark sky. 

A hand, metal, and cold, on his shirt.

It lifts him out. His bones shift. The glass cuts a deep gash in his leg, but he can't feel them anymore.

The man carries him, and broken lights reflect off of metal, and the little red star.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so
> 
> After this, Tony's gonna be taking a break, with lots of smoochy love and fucking and whatever exactly it is he needs. I'll let someone else become my whump!scapegoat. Although you might want to start praying for them, too.
> 
> Also, since you guys have all waited so patiently, i wondered if you would want to choose stebe and tony's first time? Like, if any of you have any ideas how you'd like to see that going, just drop me a line in the comments
> 
> also sorry so sorry. And end of part five.


	98. Part Six

Steve's not the first to arrive at the hospital.

He travels with Natasha and Clint, Bruce and Thor following behind in a separate car.

The place is buzzing. The media camp outside. When Steve exits the vehicle, they flash their cameras, ask questions. Steve says nothing, and continues on through.

A nurse is waiting to take them. Tony's in ICU, but he has a private room. They're allowed to look through the window, but can't touch him yet.

Potts is already there, covering her eyes, pressed against the pane.

"They contacted you?" Steve asks.

"Next of kin." She answers.

They stand there, side by side.

"Why, uh," Steve starts "why are his eyes open."

Potts makes a sharp jerk of her head. "Eye movements, I think. They want, they want to measure eye movements."

Steve nods.

Potts starts to cry, then, and it's Natasha who takes her aside. Clint takes her place.

"Jesus," he murmurs "poor bastard. Poor poor bastard."

"What did they say -- "

"His spine snapped. Leg's broken. Four ribs were crushed. They're saying the only reason he lived is because he has that metal, in his sternum. If it had been bone, he'd have died instantly."

"Why is he -- "

"Coma."

"I see."

They stand in silence, for awhile.

"Where is he?" Says someone, and Steve recognises the voice. "Jesus where is he -- "

"Whitney." Steve says, voice dull. "Don't."

"Where, is he there? Is that him? Is that -- " She pushes past Thor, through to the window, presses up against the pane. "Oh God, oh no, oh Tony. Tony, Tony, his face, what's, what's wrong with his face, Tony," she says, and she begins to cry.

"Don't look." Steve repeats again. "Just, don't."

"Why are his eyes open?" Whitney sobs. "Why won't they close his eyes?"

Steve, for some reason, folds her against him, and she goes willingly, pressed against his side.

They stand there, surrounded by beeps and sobs.

"Is this it, then?" Comes a low voice. Steve turns, and sees Ty, cigarette in mouth.

"You can't smoke in here." Steve says.

Ty moves against the window, stands, shoulder to shoulder with Steve. 

"He's wrecked."

"Stop."

"Is he," Ty's voice falters, just slightly. "Is he going to -- "

"They don't think he'll wake up." Comes Pepper's voice, from somewhere far away.

"Someone should close his eyes." Ty says finally.

Steve nods.

"Was he drunk?" Ty asks.

"He wasn't drunk." Steve says quietly. "He was talking to me."

"To you?" Ty says. "On his phone."

"No. Over the speaker."

"Still. He was distracted."

"The car ran into him. It was hidden, on a small road. It turned in when it saw him coming."

"Foul play." Ty breathes smoke against the screen.

"You can't smoke in here." Steve says.

"How did he get out?" Ty asks.

Steve stares. "We don't know."

"Are you sure? Someone's been looking out for him."

"We don't know." Steve repeats.

Ty leans against the railing, braces himself. "This is a fucking disaster." He says, inhaling viciously.

"Ty," Whitney says "Ty, what -- "

"I don't know, Whit." Ty sighs. "I don't know. I thought, I thought he could look after himself. I thought -- "

"No, Ty." Whitney says, standing. "You said, you fucking said that he wouldn't get hurt, that's what you said, and -- "

"When have I ever been able to control Tony Stark?"

"Stop," Whitney says, pushing Steve away "fucking stop." She steps closer. "You said," she breathes "that he wouldn't be hurt, and that, we were going to help him, that that's -- "

"Whit, you haven't seen him since he got the diagnosis."

Whitney's face scrunches, and then her fists meet Ty's chest. "You said," she says again "you promised -- "

"Come here." Ty says softly, and he folds her into his arms. She goes, and they stand there, Whitney shaking, Ty burying his head in her hair.

"Has anyone told Rhodes." Bruce asks.

"He's in, uh," Steve searches for the word "California."

"He said he'll be here as soon as he can." Natasha supplies.

"Right." Steve says.

The monitors inside the room beep. Tony is made of tubes, now. The tube making him breathe, the tube giving him food, the tube hydrating him, draining his lungs, keeping him alive.

The doctor takes in all of them. "I'm sorry," he says "I don't want to be insensitive. But there are too many of you. Three of you can stay, but even that's making an allowance."

Steve looks at Pepper. "You have to stay." 

She nods. "You too."

Steve doesn't know why, but he accepts it. "Natasha."

"No," Ty says "I'm not leaving."

Steve bristles. "You're not part of this."

"I've known him longer than you have."

"You weren't there for any of it, Stone. Stay away."

"You can't make me."

"Can you not?" Whitney says, eyes red. "Just -- not. Tony's dying, and all you can do it -- just don't."

"Steve," Natasha murmurs "it's fine. I'll be waiting in the car."

He watches her go, and the doctor stares at the three of them. 

"Now," he says "I, want to give you good news."

"Just say it." Ty grits.

"It's not," the Doctor swallows "it's not positive. There's, technically speaking, we're not entirely sure how he's still alive."

"What's wrong with him?" Pepper asks, and she grips Steve's hand.

The doctor's eyes grow sad. "We've got him stable." He says. "But he's in a coma. We don't why exactly, but most likely it has something to do with either his head injury or his back."

"Is he in pain?"

"If he was awake, then yes. The pain would be severe."

Steve shifts, slightly. "And there's no chance -- "

"Of a full recovery, no. No chance. Obviously, we don't want to count him out yet. We'll hold him as long as we can, just in case he does pull through. But even if he does wake up," the doctor looks anxious "he'll never walk again. His spine is damaged enough that the pain will be chronic. Judging by the severity of the head injury, it's likely he'll experience some... damage. I'm sorry." He says. "I truly am."

"But that's not fair." Ty says. "That's not -- "

"It's not fair, no." The doctor agrees. "It is... awful. I'm truly sorry for your loss."

"He's not dead yet." Steve says slowly.

"Doctor," Pepper says "what do we -- " she sucks in a breath "Doctor, if he's in pain -- "

"We'll transfer him to the long stay ward." The doctor says gently. "But, I'm sorry, you may want to prepare yourselves."

"That's not fair." Ty hisses again. "He can't die. That's not -- no."

"Oh fuck off Tiberius." Pepper sniffs. She digs in her purse, takes out a tissue. "If you'll excuse me." She says, and pushes past them, her heels echoing off the ground.

Ty turns on him. "This is your fault."

"No," Steve says calmly "it isn't."

Ty takes out a cigarette, lights up. "If he hadn't been talking to you," he says, waving the smoke around, slightly frantic. "If it wasn't for you, he would have seen it coming."

"Maybe." Steve admits. "But I didn't organise a hit on him."

Ty stares. "Excuse me?"

Steve frowns. "I didn't organise a hit on him. Someone has. We think it's HYDRA."

Ty blinks. "HYDRA."

"Yes, Stone."

"Why would HYDRA -- "

"I was thinking about it the whole way down." Steve says. "HYDRA were Roxxon, right? That's the largest oil company in the world."

"Yes."

"And Dubai, they have, that's one of the world's largest oil reserves. And who could benefit less from having a tower that will eventually turn the city green? The world green?"

"Dubai aren't going to be powered by an arc reactor," Ty says "the UAE won't allow it."

"Oil runs out. It's the same everywhere. People are terrified of Stark tech."

"You're saying HYDRA want him dead to stop him from opening the tower? From stopping oil production?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

Ty snorts, inhales. "Yeah, right. Good thinking, batman."

"You can't smoke in here."

"My lover's dying, I think I'm allowed -- "

Steve punches him in the face.

"Oh, JESUS." Ty groans, doubling over and holding his cheek. "Oh for FUCK'S SAKE."

"You can smoke outside." Steve says. "He was smoking." He adds to a harried nurse who pokes her head round the door. "He might need a new nose."

"Is it bleeding?" Ty says, throwing back his head "Oh you fucking ass, Rogers, I'm going to fucking kill you."

"It's broken." Steve says. "Nurse? Sorry, his nose is broken. Could you get him some ice?"

Ty glares at Steve, and then moves away, follows the nurse down the corridor. No one else says anything, and Steve stares at Tony through the glass.

Oh, God.

His body looks broken. Instead of resting on the pillow, his head has rolled, and is pressed against his shoulder. Jerked. His face is swollen almost past recognition, but his eyes are open, and it's sick, sick and disconcerting because they're glazed over and bloodshot.

"Excuse me," Steve asks a nurse quietly "could we shut his eyes? He's just, he looks -- "

The nurse stares at him and then nods. She scans her card onto the key in the door, keeping him locked away. Gently, she shuts his eyes.

"They're going to be moving him soon." She says. "Down to New York. But, uh, you knew that. Sorry."

"Don't worry."

"There were so many of you." She says. "Of, all of you. It's nice that he has them."

"Yeah." Steve agrees.

"Sometimes you have," she watches, to see if she's still welcome "you know, you'll have people that don't have anyone. And when the insurance won't cover them..."

"I know." Steve says. "I've been there."

"Well, uh." The nurse smiles. "It was nice talking to you. It wasn't nice, I mean. I'm sorry. I hope he gets better. We all hope he gets better."

Steve gives her a small smile. "So do I." He says, and turns back to the window. "So do I."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a lot of you expressed interest in having ty get his face punched in, so there we go.


	99. Chapter 99

Everyone's waiting on the main floor when Steve gets back. 

They stop talking when he walks in, but clearly they had been murmuring before he came in.

"Hi." He says evenly, taking a beer from the fridge.

"What happened to Ty?" Natasha asks.

"I punched him in the nose." Steve says, sitting down and cracking it open with his ring. 

"And Tony?" Clint says.

Steve sips. "The same. They're moving him tonight. We'll be able to visit him at the hospital tomorrow."

The team nods.

They sit in silence, for a while.

"Dog." Clint says eventually. "Where's Dog?"

Pepper frowns. "What?"

"Tony has a dog." Natasha explains. "I don't know," she answers "his apartment?"

"Shit," Steve says, standing "when was the last time he was fed?"

"It's fine, Steve. Just get him and bring him here."

But it means more than that. It's Tony's dog. It's, it's his. It's the dog Steve got him. The dog he sleeps with, the dog he carries even though he's far too big.

Tony's floor is empty. Dark. "Jarvis," he says "lights."

The floor lights up, untouched, exactly the same as it was before Tony left.

It's cruel. Everything, in that moment, had been going so right.

Steve sighs, and slumps onto the couch. He whistles once, lacklustre.

"Dog?" He says. "Here, boy. Here."

He here's the jingle of Dog's collar and the tapping of his claws against the floor. A small whine.

"Hey, Dog." He sighs, and the puppy rests his head on Steve's knee. He nudges him, slightly, and then places one paw on his thigh, prompting.

Steve scratches behind his ears. "Just us now, Dog."

He jumps up onto the couch and twirls, eventually settling on Steve's lap.

"You're too big." Steve says. "You're not lapdog, you know. Are you used to it? Is that it? Does Tony do this to you?"

Dog doesn't respond, obviously, but he does stick out his tongue.

"I can't go back down there." Says Steve, not sure if he's talking to the dog or himself. "I can't face them again. I can just, I can stay with you."

The dog, then. He's talking to the dog.

"Tony has a spare room, doesn't he? I don't really want to get your hairs on my bed. I mean, I could sleep in my spare room. But I don't think you would like that, would you?"

Steve exhales and shoves Dog from his lap, pours some food into his bowl. He makes himself coffee and packs away Tony's plate, leftover from from before he left. That he expected he'd be back to put away.

They were going to talk. Fuck, Steve loves talking to Tony.

Is he scared, lying in that hospital bed? The doctors didn't say his brain was offline. Is he dreaming?

Steve dumps the plate into the sink and strips off his shirt and pants. He heads to the guest room, which is perpetually unused.

Sits on the bed. Stares out at New York.

"Dog," he calls "c'mon, Dog."

There's silence. No pattering of paws across the floor, slipping and sliding on the wood. Steve calls again.

Sighing, he stands, and goes in search of the dog. He checks the kitchen, the living room, the study, where his bed is, and even what appears to be some sort of library.

He leaves Tony's room till last, because he doesn't want it to be true.

But Dog is there. Curled on the left side of the bed, the side where Pepper once would have slept. He whines, voice low.

There's a lot Steve could do. He could pick him up, he could leave. He could just go back to his own damn floor.

But instead he just sighs, and gets into bed. Smells Tony on the pillows.

Sleeps.

 

He's awoken by a bark. 

Dog is growling, yelping, a high pitched noise that shakes Steve's eyes open. He blinks, bleary, and sits up, looks around for the threat.

"What is it?" He says, irritated. "Go to sleep."

Dog whines and turns on the pillow, sits and buries his head between the bed and Steve's arm.

Steve sighs. "Move," he says, and shuffles off the bed, into the toilet. He stares in mirror, runs a hand over where a beard is starting to grow.

He checks the time, and it's sometime past three in the morning. He takes a piss, washes his hands, and splashes his face with water.

Dog starts barking again, and he grits his teeth. Exhales shakily through nose.

Opens the door.

There's a man by his window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah see this is where i fucked up like i had this whole plan for who or what the man at the window was supposed to be and then i done fucked up my own continuity


	100. Interlude

STARK IN CRITICAL CONDITION AFTER UPSTATE CRASH

Billionaire Tony Stark is reportedly in critical condition after a crash in upstate New York. Stark, who is both the creator and wearer of the Iron Man suits, was allegedly returning from a routine assessment in which to judge his suitability for returning to the helm of his Fortune 500 company.

Stark was driving a Audi R8 Coupe, the remains of which have been taken for investigation. The second driver, who crashed into Stark, has not been found, causing allegations of foul-play. These reports may come as no surprise to many of those aware of Avenger's press conference some four months ago in which another attempt was made on Stark's life.

Although no official statement has been issued, an insider states that 'Stark's life is in the balance' and he has been 'unresponsive' in a coma since the crash. Our insider states that doctors are dubious as to whether he will wake up, and that there has been mounting pressure on former CEO of Stark Industries, Pepper Potts, to 'pull the plug.'

Many people have inevitably linked this attack to the work of HYDRA, whose activity in recent months has been brought under the spotlight. Doubtless, the government may be feeling restless at this event, as the President denounces Stark's attack as 'terrorism of the American people, pure and simple.' The public are increasingly calling for answers as to what will be done to fight the terroristic agency as more and more companies are found to have links to it's core. For many, Stark's condition is a foreboding warning of what is to come; if our heroes are not safe, then who is?


	101. Chapter 101

Steve sits next to Tony, most days.

He gets in when visiting hours start and gets coffee from the little machine in the hall.

He likes to think he's Tony's line to the outside world, although he might just be losing it a bit. It's been three days since Tony was moved from the place upstate. There's been no change.

Somedays he reads from the paper, or a book. Or just chats. The other's visit, too. Tony's room is full of flowers, and balloons, and chocolates. Outside the hospital, there's a little shrine for members of the public who want to leave well-wishes.

Tony, for his part, stares up at the ceiling, unseeing, and has a machine breathe for him.

They say that even if he does wake up, he'll never walk again. Steve doesn't care, obviously. He'd still want Tony if he grew crab pincers and walked sideways for the rest of his life. But he can appreciate that Tony might not feel so optimistic.

 

Somedays later, he's reading when Rhodes puts his head round the door.

Steve stares at him. "Jim." He says, slowly.

Rhodey swallows. "I came as soon as I could." He says. "Is he -- "

Steve shakes his head. "There's no change."

Rhodey draws up a chair, slumps next to the bed. "Tony?" He says "Tones? Can you hear me?"

"I've tried." Steve says. "He doesn't -- he can't."

Rhodey closes his eyes. "Oh God."

"I can," Steve feels intensely uncomfortable "I can leave, if, if it's a problem."

Rhodes has taken Tony's hand. He shakes his head. "It's okay." He says quietly.

They sit there, in silence. Rhodes is crying, and Steve is staring intently at the pages of his book.

"I don't want him to die." Rhodey inhales sharply, wiping his nose and blinking rapidly. "He doesn't deserve to die."

Steve folds a page in his book. "No," he says "he doesn't."

"What's, what's wrong with him, exactly."

Steve swallows. "Broken back, broken leg. His chest is, well, crushed. Some kind of head injury, but it's difficult to get him into an MRI with all the," he gestures to the tubing "you know."

"What are his chances?"

Steve looks at Rhodey, and then away. "I'm sorry." He murmurs.

"Jesus," Rhodes exhales "oh God."

"The car flipped. Twice. He. He never stood a chance."

Rhode stares at him, gripped by something akin to fury. "And who did it, then? Who tried to kill him?"

"We don't know."

"Really. All the powers in the world and the Avengers can't find a car that will have been smashed in while trying to kill the seventh richest man in the world."

"Jim -- "

"Don't." Jim says sharply. And then "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"It's not, it's not your fault. It's no one's fault. Well obviously it's the hitman's fault, but. Not us. We couldn't do anything."

"We should have been more careful. We knew someone wanted him dead."

"Should have, would have, could have. He's here, now."

Steve pauses. "I can't see a way out."

Rhodes looks up. 

"Normally," Steve continues "normally, there's a way out. A get out of jail free. A way to cut the wire. Fix it all."

"But now there's not."

"I think,' Steve says, voice heavy "I think he's going to die. And I don't think there's a way out, now."

Rhode's eyes close and Steve leans forward, strokes Tony's brittle hair.

Rhodey watches. "I think he loved you."

Steve looks up. "What?"

"I was never, I wasn't sure. But he said, a few weeks ago, he said that he had found someone. That he was in love. I think it was you."

Steve feels something rising in his chest. He squeezes Tony's hand. "I," he starts, and his voice cracks.

Rhodes hands him a tissue, and he dries his eyes as best he can. "I thought," Steve shakes his head "I tried to stop myself, from being interested. I told myself, I told myself I was too young for him, that he needed a woman." Steve exhales, voice shaky. "Someone who was just, better, more like him. And I held back. I held back for a long, long time."

Steve tilts his head back, and blinks back tears. "And," he says "and one week ago, we kissed. And, I was worried he wasn't interested," Steve laughs, slightly "that was, that was a big concern. But he kissed me back. And he promised to call me. After the assessment."

Rhodes looks at him.

"I, uh." Steve's voice is now brittle, hard. He swallows. "We were talking, when. When it happened. We were going to have dinner together."

"Jesus."

"And now." Steve exhales. "Now that's over. Before it could even start."

"He was happy, then." Rhodey swallows. "Before he -- his last thought would have been happy."

That makes Steve want to cry. It makes him want to break down. Oh God. He made Tony happy.

The door opens, smoke preceding the man entering. "Oh, shit." Ty says. "Both. Okay, well, I'll be back tomorrow -- "

"You." Rhodes growls.

Ty holds out his hands. "James," he says, taking his cigarette from his mouth "how long has it been, my old friend."

"I'm going to break your fucking nose."

"Please don't, it's new."

Rhodey stands, and Steve follows. "Jim," he says "don't. He's not worth it."

"You can't smoke in here." Rhodey says "You ass, what if Tony takes it down?"

"I'm sure he'll enjoy the treat. It must be boring, life on," Ty squints at the machinery "minerals."

"Fuck off." Rhodey says. "Get out."

"You can't do that. It's my turn to visit."

"Just like you did while he was in rehab."

"Oh for fuck's sake neither did you get off your fucking high horse."

"I was in Germany."

"And I was in Hawaii, same shit, Rhodes."

"Being fucked by white girls in luau skirts isn't quite the same as serving military time abroad."

Ty sighs. "Oh dear. We appear to be disagreeing."

"Fuck you."

Ty stubs his cigarette on the door and throws the butt in the bin.

"Well," he says, crossing his arms. "I'm not leaving."

 

Steve watches the bustle of hospital traffic as Ty stuff more tissue up his nose.

"You had it coming." He says dully, flicking through his phone.

"Fuck your mother." Ty answers, head pressed back, nose stuffed with tissue.

"This is, what, the second time in a week?"

"Go stuff your anus with weed and smoke it like a bong."

"If you want to see Tony, you probably shouldn't insult his best friend."

"I'm his best friend."

Steve frowns. "No, you're not. Stop thinking you are."

Ty viciously yanks the tissue from his nose. "Just because I fucked off for a few years doesn't mean l love him any less."

"Twenty years, and actually, yes, it does."

"I'm telling you, Rhodes has it coming."

"Please don't threaten to murder my friends in front of me." Steve says lazily.

"I wasn't threatening to -- "

"Shut up, Tiberius."

Ty makes a grunting noise and stands, walks, and goes sits five seats down. Steve sighs and packs away his bag. He leaves shortly after.

 

Tony's floor hasn't changed in the six hours he's been away from it.

Dog pads over to him and whines, scrapes his paws down his thigh. "I'm not picking you up." Steve warns. "You need to stop that."

He dumps his shopping on the table, puts on the coffee to boil. "So," he says to the man sitting at the table behind him "does anyone know you're here?"

James Barnes shakes his head.

Steve nods. "Good." He says. He takes two mugs, pours in two sets of hot liquid, sets out a plate with some cookies. "Now," he says, sitting down "why don't you tell me, exactly, where you've been."

Bucky had broken into this apartment the night Steve had first stayed here, the night after he punched Tiberius Stone in the face. 

No one else knows.

Because Steve's not entirely certain why he's here.

Bucky shrugs. Dips a cookie into the coffee.

"Buck," Steve starts, clearing his throat "I need, I need to know -- "

"Stark." Bucky says hoarsely.

"Yes."

"I," he frowns. "I get confused. The man, from the car. He's... Stark."

"Tony Stark."

Bucky, for the first time, looks him in the eye. "Howard's son."

Steve stares. "Yeah." He says softly.

Bucky nods. "Things meld together. Like I said, I get confused."

Bucky hadn't said anything, that first night. Wet from the rain and wearing clothes bought from a gas station store.

"And you know," Steve swallows "you know who I am?"

"You're Steve."

Steve sits back. "You remember -- "

"I remember New York. I remember -- my childhood. It's hard to pin down. Things scatter," the cookie in his hand crumbles "break. I'm not sure what's real and what's not."

"Why did you leave."

"I saved you."

"And then you left."

Bucky frowns, head falling forward, slightly. He massages his temples. "Hurts." He mutters.

"Do you, do you remember why?"

Bucky looks at him. "I saved you," he says slowly "I can't remember why I left. No, wait. Scared. I was... apprehensive. So I ran."

"I've been looking."

"The man with the wings." Bucky says, voice dull. "He found me. Or I found him. I'm good at hiding."

Steve pauses. "Do you remember -- "

"I killed people."

"You did."

"That's why I left. I didn't want you to. I."

Steve leans forward. "Bucky," he whispers "Buck, I need, I need to know what you were doing with To -- Stark. I need to know why you were there. Did you, were you the one who -- "

Bucky stares. "I saved him."

Steve blinks. "What?"

"I saved him. The, position. Bent over, putting pressure on crushed ribs, potential lung fracture. I took him from the car. Relocated bones before they could puncture. Tried to stop the car. Too slow."

Steve stares. "It's been you, hasn't it."

"I was at the conference."

"And the house. You were there when Paul -- you were the one who shot Tony's attackers. But Buck I was there, why wouldn't you -- "

"I had my mission."

"What?"

"My mission. Stark is my mission."

"I was looking for you."

"I had to," Bucky's frown deepens. "My mission."

"Why do you keep saying that? What does that mean?" Steve takes his hand, his flesh and bone hand, and pulls. "Bucky, look at me, listen to me. There is no mission. There's nothing. You can do what you want. You're free."

Bucky blinks, and pulls his hand away. "Stark is my -- "

"Tony's in a coma, Bucky. He's going to die. Your mission failed. It's over."

Bucky blinks at him. Stares. He shoves back violently, stands, paces. "No," he says "no I don't understand -- "

"Bucky please, I've given you time." Steve says. "I left you, I've left you for days. Please you need to listen now. I know you're in there somewhere, but I can't help you until you forget about the mission."

Bucky stops. Freezes. "Are you going to wipe me?"

Steve recoils. "What?"

"Wipe me, wipe me, wipe me." Bucky grits. "Start me over, over, over, fresh, new slate, is that what you want?"

"Jesus, Bucky, no!"

"You want me to forget -- "

"Bucky," Steve says urgently "how did you know when Tony was going to be attacked?"

"I knew," he says "I knew, in my head. It was my mission."

"To kill him?"

"Yes."

"But instead you saved him."

"I told you already," and for the first time Steve sees Bucky shine through, the real Bucky, voice terse and irritable "I get confused. Things don't match up. The last things I remember, my last few missions, were to take down Tony Stark. I knew they were going to kill him."

"Who, Buck, who?"

"HYDRA. SHIELD. They wanted a delay on, on his technology. I don't know what it's called."

"The Dubai tower." Steve mutters. "Shit."

"That's all I know. I knew you worked together, and I knew they wanted him dead. I thought -- "

Bucky stops.

"You thought what?" Steve asks quietly.

"I said before," Bucky mutters "I killed people. You don't -- you don't kill people. You save them."

"Bucky?"

His eyes squeeze shut and he stumbles back, groaning. "My head." He mumbles. "It doesn't -- it's hard to think."

"Are you -- "

"I needed, you don't want people that kill. You're not," Bucky searches for the word "that's not what -- Captain America. You're Captain America. I need, I needed to prove -- " Bucky makes a noise of irritation. "I failed." He says. "I failed my mission. I let Stark die."

"You didn't fail -- Bucky I searched for you. I searched and searched and searched."

"You stopped."

"Because I thought you didn't want to be found. Understand? I had, I had to get my life back, I had to make a new one, somehow. And I wanted you to be apart of that. But I couldn't find you."

"Captain America doesn't kill. The Winter Soldier does."

"That's not your name." Steve says, voice low. "Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. I know it, and I think you know it too."

Bucky stares. "My head hurts." He mumbles eventually.

"Bucky," Steve says, taking his hand "listen to me. You need to stay. You can't go again. You can stay on this floor and I won't tell the others but you need to promise not to leave again. Please. Please I've just lost Tony and I don't think I can lose you too -- "

He pulls him close, and his fingers tighten in the back of his shirt. "Not again," he breathes into his neck "not again, Buck. Please."

Bucky doesn't respond. He stands there as Steve feels his tears wet his shirt.

"Can't you say anything?" Steve says, pulling back. "Can't you think? What did they do to you, Buck? What did they do?"

Bucky stands there, eyes distant. Steve takes his shoulders. He shakes them, slightly.

"Bucky," he hisses "Buck. It's over. You're free, do you understand? Do you understand? Tony's dead, or dying. There's nothing more you can do. You can't -- " He pulls him close again, hugs him tight, as if the harder he squeezes the more like Buck is to remember.

"Please, Bucky." Steve murmurs. "Come on."

He just stands there, arms loose, while Steve refuses to let go. He's crying, he's distantly aware, because Tony is dying and Bucky is back but incapable of thought. And HYDRA, HYDRA are trying to take them down and everything he died for is a lie. He's alone, and he needs his friend, he needs something, just one fucking thing, to keep him up, and he's tired of holding himself together, of holding everyone together, because he's just a soldier, that's all he is and all he ever asked to be and if anyone thinks --

"Steve," Bucky says, voice rough, and his hands curl round his back in wordless embrace.

They stand there, for a while, and Steve just cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE PLOT THICKENS DUH DUH DUUUUuuuuUUUUH


	102. Chapter 102

"And Bucky's back." Steve says, flicking through the clipboard at the end of Tony's bed. "Although you probably already know that, don't you?"

Tony, as usual, says nothing, and lets the machine breathe for him.

Steve sighs. "You won't tell anyone, will you? No? Oh good."

Steve slumps into his usual seat, runs a hand over his face. "Pepper visited yesterday, with Rhodey and Happy. Happy said he's sorry he hasn't been around lately. He says it was, it was too much, after Extremis." Steve sniffs, leans forward. "But he's getting married. Nothing major. Just a town hall service. He says he wanted you to be there."

Tony says nothing.

"What else?" Steve says aloud. "I suppose I should tell you that Stone visits, too. Yeah. I'm not too keen on him. I don't know if you're aware. Whitney, too. Odd woman, Miss Frost. Can't quite get a read on her. I mean, I slept with her, but when has that ever meant you know someone?" 

He stares at Tony, hoping for a response.

When he's not forthcoming, Steve reaches over and closes his eyes. Leans back in his seat.

"People, uh." He shakes his head. "People are saying, maybe, it's time to. You know. Switch you off."

Steve looks studiously at his shoes. Looking at Tony would almost feel like... an insult. Telling him this, and staring at his all the while.

"And I say," Steve mumbles, scratching his nose "that, you know. That's stupid. Because I think I might love you."

He checks again that Tony's not, by some miracle, awake.

"You know, Rhodes said that he thought you might... like me, too. It's all very playground at recess, isn't it?" Steve snorts. "But yeah. I mean," he rubs his hair "I wish. I wish we'd gotten there sooner. I wish I hadn't been so dense. I wish, I wish, I wish, right?"

Steve rubs his hand over his face. "At the end of the day," he says "you're dying. Not, not brain dead. But you're not waking up. And we think it's your back, that maybe, we don't know, actually. Your head, your spine. Anything. If you ever wake up, the pain will be chronic. Intense. You'll be doped up all the time. You'll never be," Steve takes in a shaky breath "you'll never fly again. It doesn't stop me loving you. Vegetable or no, I'll give you as many fucking sponge baths as you need."

He can feel his throat tighten, slightly, and he feels himself edging into crying territory. "The thing is -- "

Steve stares.

Tony's eyes are open.

He did --

He had just closed them, hadn't he?

Carefully, he stands. Gently slides them shut.

Waits, holding his breath.

Moments pass.

Minutes.

They stay shut.

Steve sighs. Muscle spasm. His brain working on instinct. It was a --

They open again. Tony's eyes stare up at him.

Steve blinks. "Tony?"

The eyes stay fixed on his face.

"Can you -- are you blinking?"

A few moments pass. And then Tony's eyes close. Open again.

Steve stumbles. "Oh my God," he breathes "oh my -- Tony, can you understand me? Wait, wait, blink once for yes, two for no."

Another blink.

"Was that -- hold on, now do, one for no, two for yes, can you understand me?"

Two blinks.

Steve feels his heart beat out his chest. "Oh my God," he manages "oh my -- "

He turns, because he needs to get a doctor, he needs to do something, he can't just --

"Are you in pain?" He blurts "One for yes, two for no."

Tony's eyes squeeze tight and he shifts on the bed. His hands twitch.

"Tony?" He says. "Respond. Give me, something, a response."

Tony's face screws tight as his head pushes back against the pillow. His hand shake, and twists into life, bumping spastically against the tube in his mouth.

"Hold on," Steve says "hold on, I'll get help -- Doctor!" He shouts "He's awake! Tony's awake!"

It's not just the doctor who comes running but, after Steve presses the alert button one too many times, about six nurses, too.

"It's alright," Steve murmurs, stroking Tony's hand as his eyes tear with sudden discomfort at awakening. "You're going to be alright now."

Tony shakes his head. He shakes, and his hand rips from Steve's with surprising strength, going for the tube.

"Stop," Steve says "Doctor? He needs it out, he can't -- "

"Careful," the doctor says "Mr Stark, Mr Stark, you need to calm down. I will remove the tubing shortly but first I need to -- "

An abortive scream comes from somewhere deep in Tony's chest and he drags his nail down his throat. Steve stares, and pushes his hands into the blanket, the doctor fiddling with something, IV's and catches and slowly starting to drag the thing free.

"Hold your breath, Mr Stark, it's coming out."

But Tony doesn't. He screams the entire way out and doesn't stop until he sucks in a breath so deep his back arches off of the bed.

The doctor blinks. "That's not -- his back is broken, I'm not sure how -- "

"Obviously you got it wrong!" Steve spits. "Do something! Help him!"

"Oh!" Tony gets out, and then a long, drawn out scream, moaning. "Oh, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God -- "

"I'm sorry Captain but this just isn't -- "

"My back!" Tony screams "Oh -- Steve, Steve Steve please, please, oh my God, oh my -- "

It's sudden and utter pandemonium. Lights start flashing, on and off, bright and dark, constant, and there's a cacophony of bleeps and sirens. Steve throws his hands over his ears, watches the doctor and nurses buckle. "WHAT'S HAPPENING?" Someone screams, and Tony shivers on the bed, head turning left and right, eyes wide.

"Steve," he whispers "what have you done to me? What have you done?"

Steve just takes his hands and presses them to the bed. "What's happening?" He hisses, mimicking the nurse. "What are you doing, what -- "

"Oh God," Tony moans, eyes screwing shut "it hurts, it hurts, oh my God Steve please, please make it stop -- "

"Where?" Steve says, fiddling with IVs. "Do you want morphine? I can do that, I can give you -- "

Tony's intake of breath is sudden and awful; his eyes widen, his back arches, and then, audibly, is the crack of bone knitting itself back together.

Tony screams. "My back!" He manages, voice impossible, voice pained, agonised, and his legs, his legs, beyond all miracles, begin to kick on the bed, even the one that's casted and held up by pillows.

Steve steps back, because this is the point where he realises something is very, very wrong.

There are orange lines paining their way up Tony's face. Fiery.

Extremis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so tired idek what to say like 'surprise' i guess. I didn't really want to drag out the catatonic thing for too long bc tony is, you know, the main character, and I do like to have him interact with people sometimes. Apart from that, Tony's gonna have some haaaappy time after this. Haaaaaaapy.


	103. Chapter 103

"Play it again." Steve mutters, and Bruce presses the button in the centre of the tablet.

Steve had suspected Bucky, at first. Which was ridiculous. Bucky was hidden, safe, up in Tony's apartment. There's no way he managed to manufacture a live dose of Extremis and slip it into Tony's IV while no one was watching. 

This woman, though.

She's slides through Tony's door. A black suit, not unlike Natasha's, except one side is silver, alternating like a widely spaced checker's board. The suit reaches round, over her head, keeping her hair flat against her head and making it impossible to tell the colour.

She wears a mask; gold. Strange rivets drilled into the side. 

It's impossible to see her face.

But she slides through Tony's hospital door anyway. Takes the gun, full of serum. Carefully unscrews Tony's IV, and shoots it down.

Her hand fists in Tony's hair once, but it's not violent. Almost stroking, like a scruff. She half-ruffles the lank locks, and then leaves.

"Again." Steve says.

"Again?" Natasha hisses. "Steve stop wasting time."

"There could -- "

"We've watched it six times." Clint says tiredly. "There's nothing else to see, Steve."

"But if she helping or is it something else?" Steve says, and he knows he sounds obsessive. "What does she want? What -- "

Natasha puts her hands on his shoulders and presses him into the chair. "Sit." She says.

She takes a beer from the fridge and pushes it into his hands. "Drink."

Steve drinks, as if on command. "What I'm asking," he says "is does -- "

"We don't know." Bruce says, and Steve can see this is taking a toll. Bruce was the one who had to look at Tony's blood tests, at the new thing inside his body. He's the one analysing all this. And apparently, it's taking a strain. "We don't know who she is. The cameras don't show us anything, and she's too good to make rookie mistakes. The blood work is difficult," Bruce says, standing, leaning against the counter. "Not... not inconclusive, just -- unlike any Extremis I've ever seen. Not like the Extremis Tony and I looked at last Christmas. Or the one we cured Pepper of."

It is Extremis, they know that much. The lines of fire had spread up Tony's cheeks, neck, limbs, chest, until fading into his skin.

He had screamed.

They'd had him moved to a secure facility near the coast, a bygone from the SHIELD era. Under armed guard 24 hours day, Tony lies in a coma. He hasn't talked since --

After the the initial awaking, something had happened. A film, a cocoon, had grown itself around his body. It was disturbing, and surreal, and sickening. Steve had watched as, fast, but not as fast the he didn't see it happening, brown flakes had grown off of Tony's skin, transforming him into something sickening as they surrounded him in their scaly embrace.

They had moved him; then, three days had passed.

The flakes had fallen away.

Underneath, Tony was --

He was still Tony. Same hair, same face, same skin. Small changes.

The scar on his chest was gone. All injuries healed. He stands taller, although that's more due to the metal that worked it's way down his spine, forcing it straight.

Carbonised metal inside the hollows of his bones. It shouldn't be possible.

And yet.

On the bright side, his posture is better, or it will be, when he actually wakes up.

He will wake up. He will. Steve can't let himself think for a moment he won't, because they didn't come this far for it to be a fluke. Extremis, he knows, has a low success rate. But this is a structure of Tony's design, coded for himself. If anyone can make it work, it's him.

Tony had told Steve about this, some weeks ago. A metal suit, stored in his bones. No one can ever take it from him again.

At the time, Steve had told him not to. Too much, too unreal, too ethereal, even. Not Tony. Not human. It's dangerous, playing around with humanity like that. Dangerous.

Or course maybe Steve's not a fine one to talk. But that's not the point, anymore. Without it, Tony would have died. Or woken, and stayed in crippling pain for the rest of his days. Tony owes Extremis his life.

They owe the woman with the mask.

It's worrying, it's a concern of it's own. How did she know that Tony was planning this? How did she know where to find it? Did she break into Jarvis? There's no footage of her entering the tower, and Jarvis can't give any explanation, has no record of being hacked. 

It's another mystery, just one more fucking thing. HYDRA want Tony dead, Bucky wants Tony alive, this woman -- whoever she is -- doesn't seem to mind either way. Maybe she's treating Tony like a guinea pig. Maybe it's something else all together.

Steve doesn't know when to tell the others that Bucky is alive. And upstairs. Watching TV. It seems like that's never a good time. And he still doesn't know what exactly he means by Tony being his mission.

Because Steve loves Tony, but he also loves Bucky.

And if Bucky is lying to him, or, or something else, then --

He doesn't want to have to choose.

He knows what the answer will be.

"But he's alive," Clint mutters, and crosses his arms "Tony's alive. This man -- we, we have the most unbelievable luck in the world."

"If he was lucky the car wouldn't have hit him in the first place." Bruce says.

"No," Clint disagrees "that's an action that was planned, and thought out, and performed. The fact that Tony just managed to complete this a few days before he crashed and this woman stole it and tried it _and it worked._ That's the luck."

Steve can't disagree with that, now, can he?

 

**nblocks = (gidsetsize + NGROUPS_PER_BLOCK - 1) / NGROUPS_PER_BLOCK;**

**/* Make sure we always allocate at least one indirect block pointer */**

**nblocks = nblocks ? : 1;**

**group_info = kmalloc(sizeof(*group_info) + nblocks*sizeof(gid_t *), GFP_USER);**

**if (!group_info)**

**return NULL;**

**if (gidsetsize <= NGROUPS_SMALL) **

**group_info- >blocks[0] = group_info->small_block; **

**else {**

 

**[loading... loading... loading...]**

**[upload complete]**

 

Tony gasps, sucking in air through a raw throat. The air is too cold, it feels like it's swelling in his lungs.

Quiet. Utter silence, apart from the beeping of a monitor.

 

**struct group_info init_groups = { .usage = ATOMIC_INIT(2) };**

**struct group_info *groups_alloc(int gidsetsize){**

**struct group_info *group_info;**

**int nblocks;**

**int i;**

He slams back against the bed, head hitting a white pillow. He can't -- what was that? What's -- 

 

**group_info- >ngroups = gidsetsize; **

**group_info- >nblocks = nblocks; **

**atomic_set( &group_info->usage, 1);**

 

His head feels too loud, and he groans. The fluorescent lights above him flare, and his temples pound, a monster of a headache growing behind his eyes. He coughs, and feels, hears, understands, the code running through his brain.

"Hello?" He croaks, and he tests the restraints on his wrists. "Hel -- "

He starts coughing again, and screws his eyes shut tight, moaning. God, he can't think, he can't remember. He can't -- where is he?

He tests his hands again, but they're down tight, his ankles caught in similar contraptions. He feels the panic building deep inside of his, and he tugs.

"Hey," he says "anyone? Anyone. I'm awake -- where am I? Hello? Hello?"

His voice is rough, his eyes feel heavy, like the air is pricking them. He pulls at the restraints.

"Hey!" He says, trying to work up a voice to shout "I'm in here! Hey let me out! Where am I? What have you done to me? What have you -- "

**for (i = 0; i < nblocks; i++) { **

**gid_t *b;**

**b = (void *)__get_free_page(GFP_USER);**

**if (!b)**

**goto out_undo_partial_alloc;**

**group_info- >blocks[i] = b; **

**}**

**}**

**return group_info;**

**out_undo_partial_alloc:**

**while (--i >= 0) **

 

**_[RECEIVING TRANSMISSION]_ **

 

**Sir?**

 

Tony blinks in the white space in front of his eyes, lines and lines of code flickering past impossibly fast and yet he can read it all, take it down, comprehend the binary in front of him.

He turns his head, left and right, and although he can still feel the pillow beneath his head, he can't see anything but the white. "Jarvis?" He gasps. "Jarvis where am I? Jarvis please, where -- "

 

**Sir, your heart rate is elevated. This is routine, and to be expected. Please allow for my code to finish transcribing.**

 

"Jarvis?" Tony says "What does that mean? Jarvis what does that mean? Jarvis. Jarvis, answer me! Jarvis!"

White in front of his eyes. He can feels himself hitting his head against the bed, but he doesn't care. He needs something to ground himself to the now, because he can't see, he's essentially blind, and what does --

A sharp pain in the centre of his head makes him cry out. There's an ache, too, inside his brain, but this is like someone's taken a knife and is burrowing inside his skull. "Stop!" He manages, and throws his body against the mattress. "Fucking stop! Stop! Stop! Make it stop! Jarvis!"

The pain doesn't stop, it doesn't end, and Tony can't place together anything at all. Why is he here? What -- he can't remember, and there's something in his head, some code, something sharp and biting and consuming, taking him apart piece by piece.

"Jarvis!" He says again, trying to get the voice in his head's attention, although he's not sure why Jarvis is in his head at all, some kind of hallucination, maybe. He screams, just in fear, really, because he doesn't know where he is and there's something wrong with his head.

Then, there are hands on his cheeks. Holding him tight.

He fights against them, blind, back arching, tries to bite and kick and wrench himself free. "NO!" He says, and hits his head back again and again and again. "Get out!" He hisses "Get out of my head!"

"Tony," comes a voice, low, soothing, fresh and clean and so familiar. "Tony it's me. Please, let the virus work, let it do it's thing. I promise it'll be over soon."

Tony doesn't recognise the voice but he knows it's friendly. It's calm, and kind, and the fingers stroke his cheeks, don't bruise or press.

"What is it?" He cries "I can't see - I can't see, it's code, and code, and code -- what's in my head?! What have you put in my head?"

"Shh, Tony, shh. It's nothing bad, I promise, just a little while longer, let it finish. You're awake, that's all that matters."

Tony sobs. "Help me." He says. "Help me."

"Does it hurt? How much does it hurt?"

"It hurts!" Tony gasps. "It fucking hurts, it hurts, it just does!"

"Sorry," the man says apologetically "stupid question, shh. Tony, no, you have to stop doing that or we'll strap down your head."

Tony ignores him and thunks back against the mattress again and again. He's screaming, or something, he's definitely making some kind of noise, he just, God, he wants it to end, he wants it over.

"Is this right?" The man says, voice worried. "Should it be like this?"

"I don't know." Another hisses. "There's no, there isn't exactly a precedent for things like it."

"Bruce," the voice says "maybe you should go."

Bruce? Bruce? Brucebrucebrucebrucebrucebrucebruce, Bruce Banner, Robert Bruce Banner, forty-two, 5 feet 87⁄64 inches, Robert Bruce Banner is the son of Dr. Brian Banner, atomic physicist, Rebecca Banner, housewife. Banner's molecular structure was transformed due to gamma radiation and trauma passed down by his father [evidence needed] aka, The Incredible Hulk, Avenger, base of operations: Avenger's Tower, New Yor --

Tony moans. "Oh, God." He breathes, voice closing on a whine "How do I know this, how do I know it, it's all in my head, it's all in my head."

"Tony," the voice says again, and this time it's close, pressed against him, hands holding his head still. "It's Steve. Do you know who I am? Do you remember me?"

"Steve," Tony pants, "Steven Grant Rogers, born 4th July 1920, son of Sarah Rogers and Joseph Rogers. When Steve was twenty-two, he applied for a position in the US army, but was denied due to ill-health. Steve, Steve, Steve was with the vita-rays, and Erksine and when the super solider serum he, he, took down enemy combatants in HYDRA territory liberating the camp of over Bucky Barnes later fell to his death and the tesseract now known as the Chitauri and Captain America -- "

"Enough, Tony," Steve says, and he tightens his grip. Tony revels in it, as if it can squeeze the information from his head. "That's enough, I know the story."

**Steve Rogers was enhanced to the peak of human perfection by an experimental Super-Soldier Serum in order to aid the United States' war effort**

"Steve Rogers was enhanced to the peak of human perfection by an experimental Super-Soldier Serum in order to aid the United States' war effort." Tony parrots, spitting out the words.

"That's right, I was. Tony, can you open your eyes?" 

Were they closed? All Tony can see is the rush of white and the lines of code. He screws his eyes shut tighter.

"No, Tony," Steve soothes, thumbs tracing his cheekbones "no. Come on, now. Open your eyes. Let me see them."

"Steve." Tony whimpers, and he's not ashamed of it, it's a goddamned whimper "I can't."

"Yes you can. Just open them, and let's see what happens."

"Hurts."

"I know it does. Breathe."

"Breathing." Tony says, and he can feel the sweat on his brow. This place is hot, too hot, and he wants to be able to twist out of his covers.

"Okay," Steve murmurs "open your eyes."

"Can't."

Steve's thumbs press against his temples, his hands framing his face. "Tony," he says "I'm right here. If you open your eyes, I'm the first thing you'll see."

"Everything, it's all white, I can't see anything -- "

"Open your eyes, and we can help."

Tony moans. "Oh, God."

"Open them."

"Steve -- "

"Open them."

"I -- "

There's a kiss, on his lips, and it's fast and deep and his can taste Steve in his mouth, eyes flying open half in shock, half in pleasure.

Tony gasps against his mouth. "Steve," he says "Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve Steve Steve Stevestevestevesteve -- "

"Shh," Steve soothes "it's okay, now. It's alright, calm down, see? It's over."

"Oh my God," Tony breathes, chest rising and falling "oh my -- oh God I'm alive, Steve, Steve I'm alive -- "

"Damn right you are." He says, vehement, and he kisses him again, this time soft, and this time slow.

Tony hangs on, or tries to. When Steve draws back, his head follows him, pressing against his neck and shoulder, trying to stay buried in his warmth. "Steve," he says, and shivers. "Steve -- "

Steve blinks, staring. "Tony, what is that?"

"What?" Tony says, voice panicked, head a dull ache. "What is what, why -- "

Steve shakes his head. "Your skin. Why is your skin -- "

Tony blinks, and looks down. His legs are covered by a blanket, but underneath that he's naked. Or at least, he was.

Now, his skin is golden. Physically golden. Not in a summer oil way, but genuinely made of metal, and it's hard, except Tony can't feel it, he just feels, oh God, oh God --

"Metal." He breathes, voice high with panic "I'm made of metal, oh God how do I live, Steve, what have you done to me, what have you -- "

**Sir, the exo-skeleton is entirely retractable. Please, just will it away.**

"How do I do that?" Tony asks, and Steve stares at him.

**Much the same way you are able to move your arms, Sir.**

Tony blinks, and just...

Pushes it back.

It retracts, melting into small ports on his skin. Up his arms, his legs, torso. They fold into the surface of his flesh with a tingling sensation, and then they're gone.

Tony blinks, and presses it out. A gold sheath of under-armour flicks itself across his skin, and Tony stares.

He looks up, and really sees Steve for the first time.

Swallows.

"So I'm a bit different," he starts, and his voice is sore, his eyes wet from crying. He feels strung out, raw, and yet --

There's something wrong.

"What's that?" He asks Steve. "Do you, do you hear that?"

Steve's face clouds with concern. "Hear what, Tony?"

Tony blinks. "My heart." He says. "It's not -- "

Steve snatches a stethoscope from a nearby tray of implements and presses it to Tony's chest. He frowns. "What's wrong?"

Tony shakes his head, incredulous. "That," he says "is the sound of a heart beating without the strain of drug abuse and shrapnel and surgery."

Steve is silent, for a second. And then he laughs. Covert. Excited. Almost a giggle, but not quite.

Tony bites back a smile. Stares at him. Reaches forward, just to take him into his arms, and is pulled short by the restraints.

He looks down at them, and sees they're made of heavy metal.

"Why -- "

"You're uh, you're stronger than you used to be."

"I see."

"You were injected with Extremis."

"Because, because I was hit by a car?"

"Yeah."

"And you -- "

"Wasn't, me, exactly. Uh. Someone else. Snuck in. And. You didn't happen to tell anyone to do that if you got into a life threatening situation, did you?"

"Unfortunately not, no. Uh." Tony watches Steve let his wrists free. "That, that would have taken forethought, and I, I was not fore-thinking."

Steve nods. Sits on the bed, and scratches the back of his head.

"So -- " they both say at the same time. Tony stares at Steve, and looks away when he turns.

Tony looks up, and Steve ducks his head. Rubs his nose.

He feels the tips of his ears heat.

"Are you okay." Steve murmurs, eventually, not looking at him, instead staring at a point on the floor.

"I think so."

Wordlessly, Steve holds out his hand. He doesn't look at Tony, but his hand stays there in offering.

Tony takes it.

"I thought you were going to die." Steve says quietly.

Tony swallows. "So did I."

Steve looks at him. "Do you remember, anything? From the crash?"

Tony looks at Steve, and Steve looks at Tony, and in that moment, they both know.

"He saved me." Tony says eventually.

Steve nods. And then sighs. "Good." He says. "That's -- it's hard to tell. I don't know how much of him is him, and how much is... not."

"Where is he?"

Steve bites his lip. "He'll be out of your apartment by the time you get home. It's just, the team doesn't know -- "

"Wait, what?" Tony blurts. "My apartment? Why my apartment? That's, that's not cool. And why doesn't the team know? You haven't told the team? What about Dog! Is he with Dog? Oh God. That's -- "

"Tony, relax." Steve says. "I'll tell them tonight."

Tony frowns. "Is, I thought Bruce was here?"

"He is. Bruce was in charge of, uh, checking what's inside you. I was just," Steve actually blushes "I like to come along."

"You like... checking on me."

"Something like that."

Tony nods. "So, we're going to have to acknowledge that you kissed me."

"It seemed like the right thing to do."

"And, as weird as this sound, I'm actually watching security footage from the tower in my head right now, so I can clarify that we agreed to have a date."

Steve turns, and takes Tony's chin in his hand. Tilts up his head. He frowns. "You still look sick."

Tony bats him away. "It hurt." He mutters.

But Steve's hand flutters over his face anyway. "How's your head?"

"Better."

Steven nods, and draws back. "Okay." He says. "That's okay."

Tony plays with the blanket, threading the cotton through his fingers. "You know," he starts, and then stops.

"I know what?"

Tony shrugs. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

Tony looks up. "It was nice, I mean. It's nice, that you visited. That you're here. Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me for that." Steve says softly.

"I do." Tony says. "That you took time out of your day, I'm not, I'm really not worth that much."

"Tony."

"What? No one else has come. I mean I don't blame them -- I'm not, I'm not ungrateful, it's just, it highlights -- God, what am I trying to say? The fact that your here, that you were always... there. It shows me, I mean, it puts things into perspective. Which is, for me, perspective is something I've always needed. It's just. Yeah."

"I love you." Steve says.

Tony closes his eyes. "Don't."

"What? Can't I say it? Don't you -- if you don't love me too, I can leave. I won't force something that's not, that would never work."

"You're not in love with me." Tony says gently. "Maybe, the idea of me. But we kissed. Steve, you're only saying you love me because, because I've been in a hospital bed for," Tony blinks "a month. Have you been hiding Bucky for a month?"

"Don't change the subject. Don't presume to know how much I love you."

Tony chuckles softly. "Steve, it's not possible for you to ever love me as much as -- "

"Finish the thought."

"I don't need to. You know what I'm going to say."

Steve rubs his eyes. "Well," he says "I know I love you. You may not believe me, but it's true. I'll do what I can to show you that."

Tony's expression is pained. "Steve," he starts, and the bows his head, rubs at his temple. "Ah."

"What is it?" Steve asks, and he's all concern and fluttering hands. "Are you hurting? What do you need?"

Tony waves a hand. "Nothing." He grunts. "It's just... downloading."

"What is it?"

Tony looks Steve in the eye. "I never built this for practical use." He admits. "It was a personal product. A dream. Just a little thing I was playing around with."

"What's happening?"

"The Stark industries mainframe," Tony says "wait, no." And he grunts, slightly. "My personal computer, my accounts, Jarvis." He taps his temples. "It's all up here. Jarvis runs my system, and the system's in my head."

"Is... is Jarvis..."

"Oh he's in here too." Tony says, with a grim smile. "It's easy to switch him off, though. It's just like getting the occasional notification."

"What else can it do?"

Tony frowns, and Steve's phone starts ringing.

"Sorry," he says "I should take this." He slides the screen, frowning at the caller ID. He presses it to his ear.

"Tony?"

"Hey sugarpuff."

Steve drops the phone in disgust. "Who is that?" He demands.

"Me." Tony says simply. "Sorry, I wanted to try it out."

"Your lips weren't moving."

"It's all in the mind, dear."

Steve stares. "The undersuit. Bring it out again."

The gold spreads obligingly round Tony's skin.

Steve touches it, tentative. It's cold, unyielding. It would pack a punch. Certainly, it's good for protection.

"What's this supposed to do?"

"Ah," Tony says "well I should be standing for that."

"Oh?"

"Help me up?"

"I'm not sure if -- "

"Steve," Tony says "just do it."

Steve checks around, quickly, then holds out his hand, supports Tony as he slides to his feet.

"You must be cold."

Tony shrugs. "You should stand back."

Steve stumbles back, and stares. The golden under-sheath is moulded to Tony's figure, every part of his figure, ever dip and bulge of him. Tony smirks, slightly, and closes his eyes.

And that's when it happens.

Steve sees the small ports on Tony's arms and torso and legs open, and texture of the under-suit changes. Becomes thicker, heavier. Stained red.

And although Steve can't pinpoint when exactly the shift occurred, in less than five seconds, Tony is wearing a suit.

A suit of armour, transplanted to his very core. A part of him. Inseparable.

Steve stares.

Tony flicks up the face plate. "What do you think."

Steve blinks. Swallows. "I think," he says "I think you should take it off, and let me see you."

Maybe Tony's face falls, slightly, but by the time the suit is back in his bones it's gone. He blinks, and stumbles, legs giving out under him.

"Woah," Steve says "easy."

Tony's head lolls against his chest and he frowns. Groans, slightly.

"You okay?"

He sucks in a breath. "That," he says "it took a lot out of me. Just, help me back to the bed."

Ignoring Tony's very naked body, he helps him climb back onto the wide hospital bed. The room is medical, and there's a one way mirror in front of them. Tony will most likely stay here for a few days longer while they check him out, but then Steve can see no reason why he can't come home.

Tony rolls onto his belly, Steve covering him with sheets. "Please take it easy, Tones."

"I'm hungry."

"I'll get you something."

"I haven't eaten in a month."

"I know, I was there."

Tony smiles lazily at him, and Steve can see the exhaustion on his features. He pulls up a chair, and sits, so their faces are close.

"I missed you, when you were sleeping." Steve says.

"I love you." Tony yawns.

"I love you too."

"No you don't." Tony says casually. "But that's okay. It's the thought that counts."

Steve shakes his head. "I hate you."

"That's more like it."

Steve takes Tony's hand and presses a kiss to the knuckles. "You should sleep."

"No you should sleep." Tony mumbles, eyes closing.

"That's childish."

"Don't leave."

"You need food."

"Tell Bruce to get it. Please don't leave." Tony opens his eyes again. "Come on. Just stay, for me. Just, I don't want to be alone now."

Steve pauses, and then stays, as if he was ever able to deny Tony anything in the first place.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *screams* PROGRESS


	104. Chapter 104

And Steve, look, he meant to tell the team.

He was going to tell the team. Bucky wasn't his dirty secret. But he needed time to adjust, and a month on his own seemed like a good time to do it.

So when Steve heads on up to Tony's apartment, hoping to get things ready for his return, he did not expect --

Or maybe he did, actually. Natasha always did have a way of finding things before Steve even knew they existed.

Bucky and Natasha: sitting at the table, beer cans, and a take out. They're playing poker.

"You found him, then." Natasha says, disinterested.

Steve swallows. "Uh."

"And he was the one who saved Tony?"

"Yes."

"Good." She says succinctly. "ваша очередь."

Bucky's eyes slide up, slightly, to meet Steve's. And then, almost imperceptibly, he smirks.

Steve blinks.

"I don't appreciate you not telling me." Natasha says slowly, looking at her cards. "However, in light of recent circumstances, I'll put it down to you being out of your mind with grief. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"Have you told Sam?"

"I haven't told anyone."

Natasha huffs. "Good. We'll keep it between the team. We'll call Sam in later. Right now, we need to assess whether he's still a risk. Go fish."

"Bucky?" Steve says.

He grunts. "You would be stupid not to."

Steve --

A month ago, Steve had lost Tony, and Bucky, and everything. And now, Bucky is back, and Tony is alive, and Tony loves him and he loves Tony, and all in one he's got a family and a boyfriend and real life friends.

He hides his smile. "Tony's coming home on Thursday."

"Bruce said it's like he never crashed at all."

"A miracle." Steve says.

"Science." Natasha rebukes.

"The same thing." Bucky says in that low, monotonous way. Steve looks at him, and Bucky shuffles his cards.

"He says he's connected to the system." Steve adds. "That he has Jarvis in his head? I don't know. It seems to be working. The suit is stored in the hollows of his bones, now. It's experimental. There's still so much that can go wrong."

"His head is the computer." Natasha says.

"I think so."

"And how do you feel about that."

Steve helps himself to a beer. "I'm glad he's alive."

Natasha raises an eyebrow and turns back to her cards. "Well," she says "we're all glad. It's -- I would not have liked to see him die."

Steve looks at her. Then sips. "Bruce said, well. It's ingenious, obviously. But the suit contains nanites, it's what shrinks it in size. Did you know nanites could do that? Make things smaller? They're acting like nerves, too. The metal holds his spine together, but the nanites act as nerves. Keeps him walking."

Natasha shuffles the cards. "Can they be switched off?"

"Why would you do that?"

"In case of an emergency. He's a computer, computers can be hacked, can't they?"

Steve swallows. "That won't happen."

"Probably not. But just in case."

"There'll be some kind of safe-ing."

Natasha raises her eyebrows. "Make sure there is. You're right, this is experimental. Tony probably never meant to use it. It means there'll be gaps, in places."

Steve pauses, briefly, and then hears the clack of claws on wood. He whistles. "Dog."

Dog is still unfamiliar with people, but he's always got a lick for Steve. He jumps into his lap and buries close, head tucked under Steve's arm. He's too big, now, for this, but somehow Steve suspects that it won't end when Tony gets home.

"Mmm," Steve says, scratching his back "you hear that? Tony's coming home soon. And he'll be able to take you for walks and everything."

Dog squirms a little and licks Steve's face, tail thumping against the table and blowing cards off of the edge. 

"Has Bucky been taking care of you, hmm? Yes he has, yes he has. That's it, you like that, don't you? Good boy, good boy."

"Get his tail off the table." Natasha says. "He's ruining our game."

"Go fish." Bucky says dully.

Steve notices his beer is untouched. Maybe he doesn't have a flavour for it, anymore. There's so much he needs to learn about his friend, so much he hasn't had time to learn. Now that Tony's back, now that he's here --

"Barnes is moving onto my floor." Natasha says, suddenly. "Unless of course you want him on yours."

Does Natasha know? Do any of them know? That when Tony gets back, he and Steve will be sharing this floor?

"He can... take my floor, if he wants."

Natasha gives him a strange look. "He doesn't need the whole floor."

"Right." Steve says weakly. He turns to Bucky "I mean, you can decide wherever you want."

Bucky shrugs. 

For a moment, Steve is... offended?

But then he looks at Bucky, and he looks at Natasha. And he remembers Bucky's little smirk.

"Or I mean," he says quickly "whatever you want, really. I, actually." Steve scratches the back of his head. "Tony and I, will be, we'll be living together. So maybe, it's better if Natasha looks after you for now."

Natasha, for her part, looks genuinely confused. "Are you making sure he's okay?"

"Something like that."

Her eyes narrow. "Is it, a. You know. One of those PTSD things." She asks softly.

"Maybe."

Bucky's eyes flick up, slightly. "They're fucking." He says, brutally succinct, and Steve takes a long chug of his beer.

Natasha stares. "Are you -- what?"

"You didn't know?" Steve says weakly. "We're not, actually, yet. Although we will. I mean I hope we will. Oh God. What am I trying to say? Yeah. I mean we're dating, I think. Or we were going to -- point being, it's a romantic thing. We. Yes."

"I didn't know." Natasha says, and she starts folding down cards with a sudden viciousness.

"She's angry that she didn't notice." Bucky remarks again in that dull, apathetic voice.

"To be fair, he was hit by a car sometime after our first kiss."

"That's not the point." She mutters. "I knew something was happening. Tony was, he seemed lovestruck. Followed you around like a puppy. Clint reckoned he had a bit of a crush, but we thought it was healthy, at the time. You know, he'd been, he hadn't been well."

"Then what's the problem?"

"Nothing." She says. "Nothing's the problem. I just, I thought I had a good read on you. Clearly I don't, because," she waves her hands "I didn't know you felt the same way." Her eyes narrow. "You do feel the same way, don't you?"

Steve blinks. "Of course! What kind of question is that?"

"This isn't a sympathy thing, or a, let's try it out and see how it goes thing. Because I think he really likes you, Steve. Really really likes you. And I don't think he could handle it if, if you got bored, or if it wasn't what you wanted, if -- "

"I love him." Steve says quietly.

Natasha snorts. "Good luck getting him to believe it."

Steve nods. "Yeah," he says, exhaling "he didn't. Told me to -- I think he thinks it's going to finish, soon."

"Well, don't let him think that." Natasha says, fiercely. "For fuck's sake, Steve, give him something worth keeping."

Steve stares. "I never said I wouldn't."

"Don't fuck him around." Natasha murmurs. "That's all. Just -- you won't, I know you won't. You're a good guy, what am I saying?"

They sit in silence for awhile. Natasha and Bucky mutter in a language Steve doesn't understand and he just sits there and thinks.

Make it worth Tony's while. He can do that.

He will do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spoiler alert: in two chapters, they fuck.
> 
> actually no it's more of a frottage/blowie hot bath situ but it's a hell of a lot better than the tag team fucking of Tony's exes that's been going on for the past thirty or so chapters, i would know, i wrote it


	105. Chapter 105

They've left the warmth of summer behind and October is only a few days out when Tony walks out of that hospital.

Walks. Actually walks. Natasha had chosen his clothes, and Clint had driven the car, and Bruce had run the final tests. He's still a bit weak, still a bit unsteady, but now it's because he's spent the past month in bed and his body is still adjusting. It's such an easy ailment, that Steve wants to laugh. When he helps Tony out of bed, folding an arm through his for him to hold, he smiles. When Tony slips onto his feet and steps out the door, he grips him tight. When the autumn sunlight shines in his hair, and the sound of the waves masks the car's motor, he presses a quick kiss to the crown of his head.

"Car." Tony mutters. "We're taking a car?"

"Clint's driving."

"Oh God."

"Tony!" Clint says, getting out the car. "Tony, man, let me see you -- holy shit you're ripped for a guy who just spent a month in bed."

"Yeah, well, what can I say, it's just goo -- oof."

Clint thumps into him, hugging him tight. "Aww, fuck. You're tall now, that's no good."

Tony reciprocates just as earnestly, if only briefly. "Suck on it, asshole."

"Really, though," Clint pulls back, squinting "what the fuck man, where can I get some of that magic juice?"

"Put yourself into a coma and we'll see what I can do about it."

"Get in the car." Steve says. "You can insult each other when we're home."

Tony eyes it mistrustfully. "Do we, uh. I can fly."

"Tony."

"Steve." Tony replies. "Come on. I don't, it's not that I don't trust, you, Clint, man, I just. What if HYDRA sends another car? What happens then?"

"That won't happen." Steve says, although sure, he can see where Tony's coming from. "And even if they do, you've got a metal suit inside your body, I'm sure you'll be okay."

But Tony is antsy the whole way home. He jerks at every brake, every car horn. Clint keeps up his chatter in an attempt to cover the blatant fear and the awkwardness that comes with it. Steve, for his part, puts his hand on Tony's knee.

"When we get home," he says "I have plans. I mean, only if you want to."

Tony looks at him. "Plans?" He murmurs.

"Sure. Dinner. Maybe, maybe some other things."

Tony swallows, and squeezes Steve's hand tight in his. "I haven't fucked anyone in months." Tony mutters, the words sharp against Steve's ear, making him shiver. "Take that as a yes."

Steve smiles, and Tony kisses his lips, softly. It's shocking, how easily they fall into it. Kissing, and touching. Relationship stuff.

"Hey," Clint says "can you not? Can you fucking not? Not in this car, this is my car."

"Yeah and who bought you this car?" Tony says lazily.

Clint meets his eyes in the rearview mirror. "This is true. However, until such a point you decide this is no longer my car, I won't stand to watch you debauching a national icon. Good God, man, that's my childhood your molesting in the back seat."

"Moving on," Tony says "have I missed anything major? Any other companies go down as HYRDA? I mean, I get all that streamed to my head, but I'd rather hear from you guys."

Steve winces. "There's a list. Some British car manufacturer and a company that makes bottle lids. Fucking bottle lids, can you believe. What would HYDRA do with that?"

Tony shrugs. "Just a stake in the market, really. Brings in the cash. God," Tony shakes his head "they're everywhere."

"Yeah well don't worry about that now." Clint says. "Because Bruce reckons you've got another week of bed-rest ahead of you."

"I'm fine." Tony says irritably.

"Yeah but he wants to monitor whatever it is you've got running in your system. Give you time to adjust. And then there'll be time to go flying around blowing up HYDRA." Clint narrows his eyes in the mirror. "Besides," he says "don't you want to spend quality time with your new beau?"

"Oh fuck off." Tony grunts, and Steve blushes just a little, turning his head out the window.

 

"So Bucky was living in here. I think the cleaning people have been through, but just in case, prepare yourself."

They're standing in the elevator. Steve's holding Tony's carry-on bag, and Tony keeps restlessly drumming his hands on his pant leg. He looks at himself in the mirror.

"Where is he now?"

"With Natasha."

"Oh really."

"Yeah, I think -- "

"Well I don't blame him, I mean, if I had gone that long without -- "

"And moving on."

Tony snorts, and they exit on the main floor. "Hello?" Tony says "I don't want to blow my own horn here but where's the welcoming committee beca -- JESUS."

Rhodey tackles him, and on instinct, Tony draws up the golden under-sheath, bracing his hands. "Tones," Rhodey says, spinning him round "fuck you, man, just fuck you."

Tony blinks. "Uh."

"Stop it," Rhodey says, pointing his finger "just fucking stop. Stop dying, it's not cool, and I'm not entirely sure what you think you're achieving from it."

"Well presumably nothing, it really wasn't part of my evening plans to -- "

Rhodey hugs him again, this time properly, and although Tony's face is hidden he sees where, just slightly, Tony's fingers tighten into the back of his jacket. "Don't." Rhodey growls. "For fuck's sake, Tones, how many times am I going to sit by your hospital bed?"

Steve smiles, just watching them, and how Tony easily draws away and rubs his forehead, sighing. "Yeah," he says "I know. I know that. But hey, I mean. I'm a little harder to kill now."

Rhodey steps back. "Let me see."

"Not now." Tony says, voice covert. "Later, I promise."

Rhodey eyes him carefully then grunts in assent. "Fine. I guess you've heard about our latest member."

"Apparently I owe him my life."

"I wouldn't say that." Bucky says in that apathetic way, he and Natasha walking out the elevator. He stands, watching Tony, and Tony watches him.

Holds out his hand, asking to shake.

Bucky eyes him warily, takes all of him in. "Stark." He says slowly.

"Tony." He insists, and Bucky grips his hand in metal, shakes.

Tony nods, straightening his back, slightly. He continues to stare at him even as he turns to Natasha.

And then he blinks, moment abruptly broken. "Were you always this short?"

"Excuse me?"

"You seem short."

"I'm petite."

"Yeah but were you always this short?"

"I was going to say that I'm not unhappy you're alive but that's fast changing, Stark."

"Bruce," Tony calls to the man who's just walked through the door "how much have I grown by?"

"Really not that much."

"It feels like a lot, looking at her."

"Are you done?" Natasha says, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah I'm done." Tony says, and when Natasha smiles he draws her in for a hug. "Fucking shortass." He murmurs under his breath.

In return, Natasha whispers something in his ear, which is enough for him to make a sound of disgust and pull away. "Jesus, that's crude. That's just, that is not a nice thing to say at all. God damn, Natasha, you're disgusting. I'm recovering. I was in a coma for the past month. Jesus Christ. Oh God. How do I get rid of that image?"

"Embrace it." Natasha says and Tony grimaces. 

"Fucking psychopath, absolute fucking -- "

"Are you eating with us?" Bruce asks, cutting off his tirade.

"Uh," Tony looks at Steve, who blushes again, and forces down the urge to kick himself. "I think, Steve and I will -- I'm recovering, you see. So it's important I... get rest."

"Rest." Clint says. "Ah yes, that's what you'll be doing, resting."

"Yeah, okay, we're going upstairs to fuck. What, you got some objections? No? I just spent a month in a bed goddamn if I want some action. You know what? Screw all of you. I'm gonna go get me a hot piece of all American ass."

"Tony!"

"And what? Literally what are you going to do about it? Come on Steve. See you all in the morning."

"He's a little tense." Steve says. "Hasn't been out much in a while."

"Are you coming?" Tony shouts from the elevator, holding the doors. "I'll get started without you."

The group groans. "Christ sakes, Tony, did you have to say that?" Rhodey mutters.

"You know what?" Steve says. "I'm gonna go. I will, I will see you guys in the morning, right?"

"We get it, you're sleeping together." Clint says. "Fine, go forth and prosper."

"Make sure you use protection." Natasha adds. "I wouldn't want him getting pregnant."

"Me?" Tony shouts. "Why would I be the one getting pregnant? Why would -- "

"You have it written all over you Tony."

"You know what, screw you. Steve you have five seconds to get over here or I'm leaving without you and you can eat that dinner for two all by yourself."

Steve makes a face and gives a half shrug as he heads for the elevator. "Finally." Tony mutters as the doors close.

"That was interesting." Steve says "That was very interesting, why -- are you okay?"

Tony's leaning back against the mirror, face screwed in pain. Sweating, his face damp with it. "F-fine," he says "I'm fine. Just give me a second. That, it took a lot out of me. Just a second. I'm fine."

"Tony," Steve murmurs, full of concern "hey, what's wrong? Is it your head? I can help, with that, here -- "

"Stop." Tony hisses, batting away his hands. "I'm fine. I'm fine, just give me a second. Wait."

"Jarvis," Steve asks "what's wrong."

"Sir is just attempting to process the internal system in his head. He will recover shortly."

And just like that, Tony gasps, head hitting against the wall. He shudders, blinks. "There we go." He says, sounding out of breath. "That's it. All done."

"Was that -- "

Tony presses a short kiss to Steve's lips. "Nothing." He says. "It's fine. Come on."

The doors open, and Steve sets the bag down on the floor. Tony whistles. "Dog?" He says. "Dog, you up here?"

There's the mad scratching of claws on the floor and the jangle of Dog's collar and excited barking and then the yellow blur launches himself into Tony's arms.

He tries to turn in Tony's grasp, tries to lick his face, his neck, his hair, every bit of him, whining and barking and spilling out of Tony's arms. "Hey, boy." Tony says, voice warm "Hey, hey, hey, did you miss me? You missed me, didn't you?" Tony laughs and kneels down, Dog settling his paws on his shoulders, attacking his face with his tongue, running round him in mad circles.

"Yeah you did." Tony says, softly, as Dog rolls onto his belly "You fucking drumstick. Come here."

Dog pushes himself back into the warmth of Tony's arms and settles there, nudging at his chin as Tony arches, trying to escape the licks. "You just wanna be held, don't you? That's all you want. Good boy. Good boy, Fucknut, good boy."

Tony stands, taking the dog with with. "What?" He says, glaring at Steve. "You got a problem? Was Steve good to you, boy? Hmm? Did he feed you? You did feed him, right?"

"Everyday."

"And did he get out for walks? He was used to one a day when I was here. Did he get one a day?"

"Everyone took turns walking him, Tony."

"Did he sleep in my bed? He likes it there. Was he on his own all the time? Oh wait, no, Barnes was here. Was Barnes good to him? Did he ever play ball?"

Tony is slightly manic, Steve decides. Whether it's the stress of coming home, or the excitement, maybe it's better for them to just sit down and unwind. 

"Is there a ball?" Tony asks. "We could play ball right now."

"Maybe now's not such a good time for ball."

Tony blinks. "Right." He says slowly. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise."

Tony nods. "Right. Uh. Are we, going to. Tonight? I mean."

"If you want to."

"Only if you want to." Tony replies, quickly.

"Tony, I want to make love to you, but only if you're ready. You just got out of hospital, maybe it's too soon."

"It's fine." Tony says. "Steve it's fine if you don't want to fuck me you don't need to pretend. Just, just say. It's fine."

"Did you not hear what I just said?" Steve says, amusement slipping into his tone. "I want to fuck you."

"Say that again."

"I want to fuck you."

"Okay, just say 'fuck'."

"Fuck."

"Ooh." Tony shivers.

"But only if you're okay." Steve searches Tony eyes. "They seem a bit glassy." He says. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm hungry. And, and I just want you, okay?"

"Only if -- "

"Goddamned Steve, I'm fine. I just want, I want to be near someone. You, I mean. I," Tony finally bows his head, slumps into a seat at the table. "I want to feel real, okay? That's what I want."

Dog whines, and Tony shivers, scratching his head. "Tony, what does that mean?" Steve asks softly.

Tony shakes his head. "Nothing." He murmurs.

"It sounds like something."

"I have a computer, in my head, Steve. I have metal in my body. I want to," Tony exhales, and just loosens. "I want to be with you tonight. That's why, downstairs -- I was... abrupt. But I can't do that tonight. I can't have all of them. I just need you. And I need, I need to feel real."

Steve stares at him. "I can do that."

Tony's lips flick into a smile. "Can you?"

"I can make you feel real." Steve murmurs against his skin, and Tony's eyes close. He sighs, soft.

"What do you want for dinner?" Steve says, pulling away. "I can do pasta? That is, that is about the only thing I can really cook. Or we can order in. What's your favourite food?"

"Italian."

"Italian. Right. Well, we can order in some proper Italian? Not the fried shit, or pizza. Proper food. What do you think?"

Tony swallows, and nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [*steve to tony*](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GrvsRDjxXAk)


	106. Chapter 106

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for GRATUITOUS FROTTAGE AND BLOWJOBS

"My mom used to make this," Tony says, lazily, stretching out his feet.

"Oh really?" Steve says, using the bread to soak up the last of his plate's juices.

"Mmm." Tony murmurs, and his eyes half-close. "Before she got, you know. Bad. I just remember," he exhales "bread. She would bake bread. I would play with the dough."

"Did she cook a lot?"

"She could, but she didn't. Why would she? We had a chef."

"People can cook for enjoyment."

"My mother didn't enjoy much."

Steve sits back, sated and full. He smiles at Tony, whose lips raise in response. "Does that feel better."

A laugh bursts from Tony's lips. "You have no idea how hungry I was."

"Not too full, I hope."

"I can burn it off." Tony says, smiling, although his eyes are closed, his head tipped back.

Steve watches where his throat shifts as he swallows.

"Talk to me." Steve says, finally. "I want to hear you talk."

Tony looks at him quizzically. "Why do you always want to hear me talk?" 

"You have an interesting view on the world."

"Really?"

Tony sounds surprised. Surprised, and just a little bit like he wants to hear more.

Steve smiles. "Yeah." He says. "I like your opinions. They make sense. It's satisfying to hear them."

Tony looks away. "Well," he says "I, I like your, you. I like you, too."

"You don't always have to compliment me back. Sometimes it's just nice to accept it."

"Sure," Tony says "because that's how that works."

His voice is a little louder, and Steve wants him to ease back down. Wants both of them to be happy and content.

"Let's go to the bathroom." Steve says quietly.

"Why?"

"Bath." Steve says simply, as if it's something they always do.

"Together?" Tony blurts.

"You said you wanted to feel real. You still look woozy. It will help."

"And then what?"

Steve chuckles. "I lay you out on my sheets and we have some fun."

Tony smiles, and rubs his forearm. "I've never. Okay. Sure. Bath it is."

"What's wrong?"

Tony shakes his head. "Nothing. I don't want to -- Pepper and I, we showered a couple times. But, uh. I used to be, for awhile, after Afghanistan, I was uncomfortable. In baths. Which is really stupid. I never freaked out, I just, if I didn't have to have them, then I wouldn't."

"We don't have to -- "

"Don't be silly. I was just mentioning it. I want to, Steve."

"Are you sure?"

"100%"

"You didn't sound it."

Tony sighs. "I was trying to tell you that I've never had someone have a bath with me before, okay? And that, it's something I want to do, and it's nice that I'm doing it with you, because it makes me feel like you care. Okay? That's what I was trying to say."

Steve smiles. "You could have just said that."

"I could've, but making a fool of myself seemed like so much more fun."

Steve snorts and stands. "Come on." He says. "Use that fancy computer of yours to turn on the bath."

"Your wish is my command."

The bath in Tony's apartment is sunk into ground. Built into stone, with lights, and unused candles around the edges. It's certainly not for bathing. More of a hot tub, than anything else.

Now, water spills over the edges, bubbled and hot and steaming.

Tony turns. Swallows. "Are you -- "

"Yeah."

"Go on, then."

Steve's hands find his own buttons, and he dumps his shirt on the floor.

Tony stares. "The rest." He says, clearing his throat.

Tony's eyes are wide, not fearful, but --

They're not the eyes of someone who's ready to make love. 

"Quickly." Tony whispers as Steve removes the rest of his clothes. He steps out of his pants, and takes Tony's wrist.

"What's wrong." He says quietly.

Tony shakes his head. "Nothing." He says "Nothing's wrong. Nothing. You're, you're perfect, let me kiss you, here -- "

Tony leans forward but Steve breaks away. "Tony, please." He says softly. "Tell me what's bothering you."

Tony swallows. Shakes his head. "Nothing." He says with finality. "Nothing's bothering me. Let's just, let's get in the bath. C'mon. It'll feel good."

"You should probably take off your clothes, first." Steve says, with a hint of a smile.

"Right." Tony says. "Right. Uh." He pulls off his sweater, and for a moment, Steve takes in the unmarred planes of his flesh. 

"Every scar." He murmurs. "All gone."

"Yeah," Tony says, voice breathy "I had, I had this tattoo scar on my ass that's just disappeared. It's a miracle."

Steve smiles, and Tony swallows. Unzips his pants.

"Look at me." He murmurs, and Tony looks up. "I want to see you."

Tony's eyelids flicker, slightly. In the hear of the room, the first beads of perspiration make their way down his temples.

Tony pulls down his pants, and then kicks off his underwear.

They both stand there, naked, in the low light. Steve, tall and broad and lean and light, all gold and slick skin, and Tony, short and thick, muscles strong, and belly firm.

"It's changed you." Steve says, soft. "It's changed your body."

"Not a bad thing."

"You were perfect before, too."

Tony swallows, and his eyes close. He frowns. "I -- " he starts, then stops. "Yeah." He frowns. "I don't think I was perfect. I'm not perfect. I didn't, I didn't think that. Sorry."

Steve screws his eyes shut tight. "Let's start again." He says. "I'm going to tell you, you're perfect, and you're going to say..."

"You're perfect."

"No you're going to say 'I know', or, 'you fucking bet I am'. You're Tony Stark! Tony, what's wrong?"

Tony's starting to close in on himself. Steve can see it. And Steve can't do that, he won't. He won't make love to a man who doesn't want to be there, or who's only doing it because he thinks it'll make him happy.

"Nothing," Tony says again, and he almost sounds like he's on the edge of tears. "I just, I wanted, this isn't like normal sex, okay? I care about you. But it's not like, like with Pepper. I knew her, and it was, we were different. I just," Tony's face grows pained "I just don't want you thinking I'm, I really, really like you, Steve, and it's hard for me, I mean, letting go, letting, showing you, I feel like a nerve, and ugly nerve that's just, open, and it hurts, letting you in, letting you." Tony makes a noise of frustration. "I can't explain -- it hurts. It hurts that, that I love you, and you don't love me the same way."

"I do love you the same way."

"No, you don't." Tony grits. "Stop saying you do. No one could ever love this," he gestures at himself "the same way I love you. It's not, that's not possible, it's not right."

"How do you love me?"

"So, so much. Everything is, every time I think of you, it just makes it better. Everything better. I remember something I hate or sometime I felt sad and then I think of you and it's okay, it's safe, because what could ever be bad when you're around? How could I ever feel sad? Everything just becomes, it's safe, when I think of you, everything becomes safe, and right, and no matter how bad, how bad I'm feeling, I feel like there's hope. Do you understand that? You give me hope. I can't, I don't, don't ever, ever say you could feel the same way because you can't, you can't, Steve."

Tony trembles, and he ducks his head. "Oh God," he says, he breathes, voice catching. "I've ruined it. I've ruined it, I'm sorry."

Steve says nothing, and pulls him close. Tony breathes against him, hot and hard. Steve presses his lips to his hair.

"You're fine, Tony." Steve murmurs. "I understand -- no don't look at me like that, I do, okay? And, and I obviously can't show you now, I can't make you understand overnight. But I do love you. And I will prove it to you. And one day you'll wake up, and you'll realise, I'm still there. And that I never left. And then, maybe, you'll understand how much I love you. Or you'll realise that it's real."

Tony swallows. "Get in the bath." He says "Let's just. Let's get in the bath."

"Tony -- "

"Get in." He says, wiping a hand under his nose. "I'm fine. I'm fine, come on. Let's, let's do this."

He grins, or tries to. Tries to bring back some of his bluster. It doesn't work, but Steve doesn't care. He doesn't need Tony Stark, tonight, he just wants Tony.

The water is hot. Tony slides in gently, gasping slightly. He turns off the taps, and then there's silence, apart from the running water.

Steve sits himself on one of the ridged seats opposite Tony. Lets the heat sink into his bones.

Tony closes his eyes.

Like this, Steve takes all of him in. Tony has strong thighs. His waist is small, but his chest heavy. His arms are sculpted, not just his muscles, but the way his forearms curve so perfectly, right into his long, thick fingers.

Between his legs his cock lies, half hard. His skin flushes, not red, like Steve's, but glistens with the water and the perspiration.

He ducks under, breaking the spell.

He comes out, shaking his wet hair, pushing it back on his head. "Been a long time since I've felt heat like this." He says.

The heat is amazing. Steve can't describe it, the way everything goes lax, melts, how he feels himself soften, and Tony go pliable.

It makes him want to hear him moan. To take that hot, wet body and lay it out on crisp white sheets. Take him apart, bit by bit.

Make him writhe. The basest form of pleasure. 

Maybe it shows on his face, because Tony stares at him from under hooded eyes. "What?" He says.

Steve smirks. "Nothing."

Tony shifts, the sound of water filling the air. The gentle lapping as it slaps against skin. "Seems like you're thinking about something."

"You." Steve says. "I'm thinking about you."

"Oh really."

Steve shifts over to where Tony is sitting. "Come here." He says.

Tony eyes him warily. "On... your lap."

"If we're going to do this, we should do it properly."

Steve thinks he knows what's wrong. Tony is averse to physical contact. He doesn't know how to handle it. Not when it's so new, and fresh. And it's scaring him. Making him anxious. Steve doesn't want him to be anxious. What he needs if for Tony to come to him on his own, and make his see that no matter what he does, Steve won't turn him away.

Tony slides himself over Steve's knees, thighs straddling his hips. "Happy?"

"Very." Steve says softly, looking up at him.

They kiss. Steve's wet hands travelling up Tony's back. Tony's hands fisting in Steve's hair. Their bodies slip against each other, slick, and Tony arches, just slightly, to get friction on his cock.

Tony looks down at Steve from his perch on his lap, panting, slightly. He's all lit up in the low light, and he shifts, enough that Steve gives a small gasp where he presses down on his shaft. Tony reaches behind Steve's head, to something he can't see, and he hears the pop of a cap.

Tony runs his hands through his hair; lathering, Steve realises, shampoo. He's washing his hair. Steve relaxes into it, leans back, even though at the back of his mind he's thinking that maybe their positions should be reversed.

"That feel good?" Tony asks, voice low, husky.

Steve grunts in reply.

Tony smirks, and it's so like the man Steve used to know, that one from the helicarrier those years ago, that Steve almost jars.

But then he relaxes. Tony kisses him, soft and slow, gently sucking on his lower lip. Steve lathers up his thick hair, gently tips the shower head over the foam until it runs clean down his back.

Tony's eyes are shut. His breathing slow.

"You're tired." Steve remarks. "We don't, if you don't want to."

Tony cracks open his eyes. "I want to."

"I don't want to wake you up. You need to sleep."

Tony smiles softly and leans forward, presses his head into the crook of Steve's neck and sighs. Their chests are pressed, flush against each other, and the warmth and weight of Tony's body makes Steve wrap his arms around his back, gently cradling his head.

"We don't have to fuck." Tony whispers. "We can just... there are other things."

"Let me suck you."

Tony chuckles. "You ever sucked a guy before?"

"More than you, probably."

Tony shifts, draws his arms up between their chests, loosens and relaxes further into Steve's grip. "Probably." He murmurs as the water laps around their hips.

"Let's get out," Steve says "come on. I'll suck you, and then we can sleep. Take the whole day, tomorrow, do nothing."

"Doesn't seem fair." Tony says, sliding back into the water. "I feel like I should reciprocate?"

"Next time." Steve dismisses. "You're tired. I want to make you happy."

Tony swallows, slightly. "That's," he starts, but doesn't finish. "Okay."

"Okay?" Steve says. "Okay. Get out, come on."

They land on the rug and Steve wraps himself in a soft towel, hands one to Tony. He swipes the water from his body and throws it to the floor, just walks out, into the room, flesh tanned and naked and wet.

Steve stares. He stares at the the broad slant of Tony's shoulders, the way his waist curves in, almost like a woman's. The tip of his ass, where his back naturally arches, and the supple roundness of his ass. Strong thighs, sturdy calves. He's not a tall man, but he bears his body well.

He just lies on the bed, eyes fluttering shut.

Steve lets his own towel drop, kneels up between his legs.

"You ready?" Steve asks, quietly.

Tony snorts. "You ready?" He mimics. "It's a blow job not a drop zone. Of course I'm fucking ready."

Steve runs his hands over the soft smooth planes of Tony's inner thighs. Leans down, and inhales his scent.

Tony shivers.

Steve lets his breath ghost over Tony's cock. Gently laps at his balls, takes them into his mouth. Moves up to the underside of his shaft and licks, sucks along the edge.

Tony's breath hitches, and Steve feels his thighs tighten beneath his hands, where he keeps them flat on the bed.

"Where you always this flexible?" He asks between sucks. "Or is it extremis?"

Tony moans in reply, and Steve presses a feather light kiss to the tip of his cock.

He bucks with frustration. "Steve," he mutters "just fucking -- do it."

Steve presses him flat onto the bed, one hand pressing on his belly, keeping him down. "Just let me," Steve murmurs against his skin, words muffled through thick vibrations when he sucks the join of thigh to groin spread taut on the sheets "don't move. Let me."

Tony makes a cut off noise, half grunt, half whine, and his back arches, his hands fisting in the sheets. "Hurry up," he breathes "Steve, please."

Steve just keeps pressing kisses down the length of his cock. "Did Ty fuck you like this?"

Tony gasps as Steve swallows him to the root. "Ty didn't," he sucks in a breath. "We didn't fuck. Haven't fucked a man since -- don't, oh, there, yes, Steve, just do that."

"Say my name again?"

Tony snorts, which tails up into a gasp. "Steve," he says "Steve, Steve, Steve."

Steve could live a thousand lives and never tire of that.

"Stop teasing you ass," Tony says, hitting him with his heel "just, take me in one and do -- oh my God."

Steve starts sucking in earnest, Tony's balls hitting his chin. He hears him whine, feels his muscles clench, his toes curling as they come to rest between Steve's shoulders.

He continues like that, Tony's breathing becoming more ragged, his body more flushed, and then draws back, fists Tony's cock, sucks on the head.

"Monster," Tony moans "oh God you're a monster."

Steve grins with the lust of it all and goes back down for more, stretching his own naked body out on the sheets. He sucks Tony down, and this time he doesn't relent, just keeps moving the flat of his tongue along the length of him, cheeks hollowing obscenely as he takes him down, and Tony starts writhing and Steve starts shifting and he can tell that both of their orgasms are building, building, building.

He ruts himself against the bed, shifts onto his knees so he can get a better grip of his own cock, and starts to fist it as Tony moans. He feels the heat start to pool in his gut, that tell tale sign, and comes up for air.

"Want to taste you, okay? I'm gonna swallow."

Tony moans, and says something like "thank Jesus" while Steve returns to his work. He keeps sucking and fucking and Tony is rolling his hips up to meet Steve's mouth and each little breath is a whine because Steve can almost feel where Tony's belly is alight with pleasure, with waves of it, and how this orgasm is drawn out and aching, because at that moment he spills into his own hand and his name is groaned from Tony's lips, long and drawn out, and then he's finally swallowing him down, holding him firm, sucking him through it while Tony fucks his hips up with abandon.

It stops. Steve wipes his mouth. Tony blinks.

"Did you -- "

"Yeah."

"Good."

Steve takes a towel and clears himself off. He bundles up the blanket and throws it to the floor, revealing the soft, clean duvet underneath.

"We can," Steve clears his throat "can I stay here?"

Tony looks at him. "You were going to leave?"

"No!" Steve says quickly. "No, no. Just in -- you want me to stay."

Tony slumps onto the pillows and kicks his legs under the duvet. "Yes, I want you to stay. Get over here and cuddle me you fucker."

Steve shifts until he's lying under the warmth of the covers. Tentatively, he slides his arm around Tony's chest. Holds him.

He feels Tony swallow. "That's nice." He mumbles.

"Yeah?" Steve breathes against his back, pressing a kiss to his sweat soaked hair. "Good."

Tony sighs, and Steve revels in the warmth of him, his chest pressed to his back. "I'm glad," Tony says slowly "that you're here."

Steve gently draws a finger up and down Tony's arm, over his shoulder and back again. "I'm glad you're alive." He utters lowly, voice rough around the edges.

Tony rolls so he lies flat on his side, facing Steve. He blinks, slowly, dazed. "This is a relationship, isn't it?" He half demands. "I'm not... misreading this."

"No." Steve says softly, stroking his cheek. "You're not."

Tony's eyes close as he leans into the touch. His lips part, gentle. "I would hate to, to misread this." He mumbles.

"I love you," Steve whispers "there's no, no hidden meaning there. No second guessing or manipulation. It is what it is, and I need you to believe that."

Tony's eyes flutter open. "It's difficult for me to believe it." He says lowly.

"I know." Steve agrees. "I think I know that more than you do, even. I've spent a lot of time watching you. I think, I think the only way I'll get you to believe me is by waiting it out. Sticking around."

"Would you leave?" Tony asks so quietly even Steve, in such close proximity, has to strain to hear.

"No." He says, voice quiet but strong. "I'll never leave."

Tony smiles, but it's not full. "That's what they all say."

"I mean it."

"So did they."

"Who's they?" Steve asks. "Stone? Pepper? Whitney? They're not me, Tony. They don't love you like I love you."

"What makes you so special?"

Steve's instinct is to bite back, but he doesn't think Tony needs that. It's not a competition, Steve shouldn't have to fight for his love. He shouldn't have to make it seem like a fight to make Tony believe him. Instead, He slings an arm around Tony's waist, pulls him closer.

"Why did Stone leave?" He asks quietly.

"He kicked me out."

"Because he couldn't, what, handle you?"

"Yeah."

"And Pepper?"

"I was ill."

"Whitney?"

"I didn't love her."

"Do you love me?"

"Yes."

"And I love you." Steve says, pressing a kiss to Tony's forehead. "I love you, and I don't leave because you have nightmares. I have nightmares, I understand that. I don't leave because I grow bored of you. I don't leave because I have some, some ulterior motive. There is no ulterior motive. I'm here because I love you, and I stay because I love you."

Tony swallows and his eyes flicker shut. "It's sure is gonna hurt like hell if you leave after saying that."

Steve smiles and Tony relents, tucking his head into the crook of his neck. Steve runs his hand over his back, again and again, until he loosens with sleep, and the sun begins to rise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to thank everyone who's made it this far, including, but not restricted to, my mum, my dad, my sister, I hope none of you ever read this, also Marvel, for creating the characters I was too lazy to figure out on my own, the first gay guy to ever give a blow job, whoever invented hot-tubs, my ass, my education, for allowing itself to be put on the line so I can write this instead of essays on Aristotle, also Aristotle, for being so boring that I wanted to write this instead, and obviously, whoever is actually still reading this, after 106 chapters, 219 thousand and something words, and 1238 comments. Bless you for being so devoted to seeing Tony Stark hurt just as much as I do.
> 
> Also, there is a little mini-fic in this verse. You can just click the 'Blue Lips, Blue Veins' link on top of the stats or you can press this [helpfully provided button](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2668373)


	107. Chapter 107

It takes some getting used to.

Everything, really. The suit, the, the constant buzzing in his head. Steve.

So he takes it slow. Bit by bit. Manageable.

But it's amazing what having a computer in your head does for you efficiency levels. 

 

Pepper. Pepper is that, she's one of those things he needs to sort out.

Because he's starting afresh: new body, new beau, new suit, new everything. Clear headed and fresh-aired and there are just some things he needs to fix.

She's sitting in her armchair, the same armchair she'd always sit in when they watched films, and it's the armchair Tony hates because it's a big red thing and it completely distorts the ergonomic vibe he's got going on but it was his one concession because if he got to choose the stone for the kitchen Pepper got her stupid fugly chair -- 

She crosses her legs. She'd bleached her hair, Tony remembers. The tan has faded. But she looks well. Like she had a midlife crisis, but still. Well.

How can two people who were once so close have nothing to say to each other?

They used to be best friends. 

Tony swallows. Opens his mouth to start.

"Sorry," Pepper says "for, uh. Accosting you. At that gala. I wasn't thinking straight."

"Right." Tony says weakly. "You saw me and panicked."

Pepper nods, and sips her drink. "So you're not," she gestures to her glass "you're not doing this, anymore."

"No."

"What convinced you to stop?"

Tony shrugs. "I didn't want to. I had to. Couldn't, reached a point I wasn't quite functioning anymore."

"Cold turkey."

"Yeah."

Pepper considers. "You never stopped for me."

"You never asked me to."

"That's true. But maybe something's I shouldn't have to say."

"Why?" Tony asks, abruptly. "That's not how that works. If you have a problem, you say it. You tell me. You knew going into it that I was a drinker, what else did you expect?"

"That you'd stop."

"Why would I do?" Tony asks, irritated. "I've never stopped drinking."

"Among other things."

Tony exhales through his nose. "I'm not going to argue with you." He says. "Let's not do that."

Pepper fixes herself and rests her forehead on her hand. "I didn't want to leave it like it was." She murmurs.

"With a phone call."

Pepper looks at him. "What was I supposed to do?" She hisses.

'Not leave' goes unsaid.

"I'm not angry." Tony says, abruptly. "At you. I'm not angry. I'm really not. Uh."

Pepper closes her eyes. "After I left," she says "I mean, it was in all the papers. You, you going off the rails, a bit. The video, of you, with the board of directors -- "

"In my sweatsuit and tie, yes."

"I wanted to come back. But I had been gone so long, I didn't know if I would -- "

"Make it worse."

"Right." She says. "Because I love you."

Tony looks away.

"Maybe not, maybe not in a way that, not," she makes a frustrated noise "platonic." She says. "It's platonic. I love you like... not a brother, that's weird. But I do love you. I care... deeply, about what happens to you. Which is why, at the gala, when I saw you, I just wanted to make it right, as soon as I could, you know? I thought that if I could just explain, you'd understand, and we could go back to being what we were before the whole mess."

"Friends."

"Right."

Tony runs a hand through his hair, slightly. Sits forward. "How are you feeling?"

"Feeling?"

"You left because you couldn't -- because of what happened, right? You said you needed space, you needed help. Did you get it? How are you feeling?"

Pepper stares, and then nods, slightly. "I'm okay. I'm okay, now. Better than you."

"I'm feeling pretty damn fine."

"Oh really?"

"I got dosed with extremis. Not, not the same strand you did. It's a long story. Clearly I'm alive, so."

"I visited you in the hospital."

"I appreciate it."

"What, what does it do?" Pepper asks, and she's shaky, clearly. Tony sees it, sees the way she sits up straighter, wary.

Tony opens his mouth to explain and then closes it again. "It's, it's complicated. I carry the suit in my body, now. My head's essentially a computer. But it's okay. I can turn it off. And I can just," Tony waves a hand "it's worth it, to be okay again."

Pepper nods, but she's frowning. "That doesn't sound safe."

"I didn't really have a choice in the matter."

"Who -- "

"We don't know."

Pepper's eyes narrow. "Tony, you shouldn't have it in your body."

"My spine broke. It literally snapped in two. Or not quite, but you get the idea. The, uh, the suit keeps it together. The nanites act as nerves. It's the only thing keeping me moving."

"You can fix that. You can fix it on your own."

"This isn't why you're here," Tony says, sharply. "That's not why we're talking. Pepper, I need you to take SI again."

Pepper stares. Blinks. "Wasn't that a given?"

"Excuse me?"

"Wasn't, wasn't that going to happen anyway?"

Tony frowns. "I was under the impression that -- "

"What, I was leaving? And never coming back? That I would, would spend the rest of my life sitting on my considerable fortune on a beach in Thailand?"

Tony stares. "Well with all due respect, if I was in your position, that is exactly what I'd do."  
Pepper actually smiles. "No," she says "I'm, I'm sorry. I thought you knew that I would come back."

Tony turns his head to the side, taps his fingers against the leather of the couch. "I'm seeing someone." He mutters.

Pepper raises an eyebrow. "Oh? Is she nice? That's a stupid question, you must think so. Is she -- oh God, it's not Natasha is it?"

"Guess again."

Pepper's brow furrows. "Is there another woman living in -- Janet? The rags say that she's round here a lot. I assumed it was social. Oh please tell me you're not screwing Janet."

"Clint." Tony says, non-committedly "Clint is fucking Jan. Although you didn't hear that from me."

Pepper sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose. "Don't play games, Tony," she says "just tell me."

"Steve."

"Steve?"

"Yeah."

"Is that... I don't know who she is."

"Probably not, because it's a man."

Pepper stares. "Oh."

"I mean."

"Yeah."

Tony swallows. "Surprise." He says, throat dry.

Pepper's eye twitches, slightly. "Is he," she looks at her hands, folds them over her skirt, examines her nail "is he good to you?"

"Yeah." Tony says softly. "He's good to me."

She nods. "So, you know when you said that, that you lived with Ty -- "

"It was a long time ago."

She nods again. "Were there any, did you ever, while we -- "

"How could you think that?"

She looks up, frowning. "You're gay. You're just -- you're fucking gay."

"Not exactly, no."

"Were you gay, and was I, was I your decoy? Or are you, you know, do you like both -- "

"Both." Tony assures. "I like both. I liked you, exclusively. Uh. And no, you were never my, my decoy, or my -- "

"All those years, I never knew. You never brought a man home."

"I am," Tony swallows "I am very careful."

"What changed."

Tony looks up. "I wanted to be happy. You know. Give it a shot. I, I fell in love. And I didn't want to deny myself. Couldn't, really. After what happened."

"You fell in love." She says quietly.

"Did you, did you expect me to just rot? Waiting for you? Is that what you wanted? Because -- "

"No," Pepper says "that's not what I wanted. I'm just, surprised. That you were able to fall so quickly," she smoothes her jeans "not because you were supposed to be madly in love with me," she adds quickly "just because... you're you. You don't fall in love easily. You don't, I mean, after the way I left you..." she makes a frustrated noise. "He must be pretty special, is all I'm saying."

"He is."

Pepper smiles again. "Well that's all I need to know." She stands, tugs down her sweater. "I'll start on Monday, I guess."

"Thanks."

"That's no problem, Mr Stark. Uh," she holds out her arms "would, would this be weird, or."

Tony swallows, and they hug.

He buries his nose in her hair, and her hands tighten in his shirt.

Some people, Tony decides, aren't right for each other. And maybe that's a testament to platonic love. Because he would die for this woman, he thinks. But whatever they had, it's gone.

Two people, operating in separate spheres. She still -- 

She smells the same way she did, when she left. Tony remembers driving her to the airport. How she'd smiled, and said 'I love you' and Tony had done the same, taken her luggage from her car, just a like a good fiancé should.

If --

Oh, wow. If they'd stayed together, they would be married by now.

Mr and Mrs Stark.

Ultimately, there's no use stalling over things you can't change. Pepper is here now, and they are friends. He's got her, and Rhodey, and his team. He's got Steve. He's even got a dog.

It's good. It is so, so good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> right about now i would usually start feeling some kind of impending doom like i just read through this and i was like damn it's gonna fuck up but u know what it's actually not when i said i was giving a break i meant a goddamned break let something go good for him
> 
> although it will get very bad a few more times before this finishes, just fyi. Awful.


	108. Chapter 108

Tony's got a lot of junk mail. Or not exactly. Mostly, it's a lot of letters and chocolates and flowers wishing him well.

This stands out, because it's sitting on his bed. He doesn't know how it got there. Maybe Ty bribed a cleaner. But it's on his bed, and there's a little folded up note beside it.

'I'm sorry I was an ass. I visited you in hospital. I don't think your friends like me.

See me for a coffee?

Ty xx'

It's a bottle of champagne. Which is.

Yeah.

He pours it down the sink, fingers twitching, and fishes out his phone.

'I can't meet you here. The mansion on fifth, 28th Nov.

Stop calling me.'

 

"So, uh," Tony says, picking turkey out of his teeth "how's the whole, you know. Carol thing going."

Rhodey sighs and kicks his feet onto the table. "Well you know what they say. Doesn't matter how slow you as long as you don't stop."

"I don't think they do say that," Tony says "I think Confucius said that. They, they would probably say get your ass over to California and tell her to come back."

"Look at you," Rhodey says "all well-adjusted. I tried that, I went to Cali." He shrugs. "We got half way through talking, and then you got hit by a car. Left it on a bad note."

Tony sucks his teeth. "And what, that's an excuse to just let it go?"

"I'm not letting it go."

"Seem like you are."

Rhodey sighs. "I don't know, Tones, man. I just, I have to wonder. Maybe it's not worth it."

"She knows there's always a spot for her here, if she wants it."

Rhodey smiles, but it's sad. "Yeah." He says "Yeah."

"You wouldn't," Tony pauses "you wouldn't leave, would you? Go back to California?"

"What," Rhodey says "and leave you? All this?" He shakes his head. "Nah. I've found my thing, here man. Maybe, I don't know. If it doesn't work out with her, then," he holds out his hands "then maybe it's just not meant to be."

"What, Carol?"

"No. Marriage. Maybe it's not gonna happen for me."

Tony makes a face. "I don't know why you were always so on with the idea anyway."

Rhodey snorts. "Because I saw the good parts? I don't know, Tones. I remember proper thanksgivings around the table with my mom and my dad and my sister. And we'd do the whole thing, the big turkey, and cranberry sauce." Rhodey smiles, slightly. "After, we'd unpack all the decorations. Put up our tree. It was nice. I want that. I've always wanted that."

"There are better things."

"Than what, family?"

"Yeah." Tony says, voice rough. "There are."

"That's because you've never had one." Rhodey says. "You're getting there, though."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Rhodey shrugs. "I say family. It doesn't have to be the people you, I don't know. The people who raised you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I mean that's what I want. I want that, and I want this." Rhodey grins. "I want it all."

Secretly, Tony thinks that Rhodey has always been too easy-going. Too nice. It's why he can't hold down a girl. It takes compromise, and it takes a fire. You have to know what you want, and you have to want to go out and get it.

But he thinks he and Carol will work out. She doesn't know it yet, but they will. They just need something big to get them going.

 

The mansion is freezing, probably because Tony doesn't actually use it for much anymore.

He should sell it. Definitely. Sell it, to, no, donate, even better. His mom would want that, right? Giving the piece of shit house to the Maria Stark foundation for kids or something. She could get behind that.

It's dark out, because the evenings come quicker and quicker. There's a hint, just a hint, of the promise of snow, hidden in heavy clouds and a sharp bite in the air.

But Ty isn't in the house.

Tony's feet crunch on the gravel as he makes his way round the back of the house. Here, there's the patio, that lies outside his mother's dayroom. The trees, three of them, dead and bare.

They're strong now. Big. Not massive, but the oldest must be fifty by now.

He nearly trips where the roots have cracked the stone of the patio. That's not good. He should look into getting them cut down. Wouldn't want to damage the house.

Ty's there, leaning against the smallest one, the one Tony used to play under. They're all so close together they almost form a roof over his head. It must be like a natural den in the summer, now.

Ty looks up at him, but Tony can't make out his face in the dark. He flicks on the outside light, illuminating the trees in shadow, and drawing out the lines of Ty's face.

"You came." He says. "I thought you wouldn't."

Tony shrugs. "I said I would, didn't I?"

"I haven't called you." Ty says. "I kept my promise."

Tony sniffs, crosses his arms. "Steve said you were at the hospital."

"I visited everyday."

Tony looks down. "We can't continue this. I'm seeing someone."

Ty snorts, and steps closer. "Yeah," he grunts "the Captain. I head."

He stinks. Ty stinks. Of booze, and weed, and under that, something else.

Tony's mouth goes dry. He swallows air.

"You're been smoking," he says, and he takes step back. He covers his mouth and nose with his suit jacket, flaps Ty away. "Oh, God." He says, muffled.

Ty frowns. "What?"

"Crack," Tony hisses "don't, don't lie to me, get away."

Ty holds up his hands. "I wouldn't -- Tony, I wouldn't do that."

But the computer in Tony's head is taking in the facts. It's matching Tony's nasal receptors and it's processing the evidence. And Ty, most definitely, in the past hour or so, has smoked crack.

Maybe he has some on him. Maybe --

The urge is so violent and so unbelievably surreal Tony, for a moment, can't believe it's happening. Is that it? Twenty-five years clean and just the smell makes it seem like it was only yesterday he was -- 

Oh, God, it's feels like his gorge is rising. The craving is so intense Tony digs his fingers into his hair to stop him from taking it in, from getting on his knees and begging Ty for a hit.

"Why would you do that?" Tony asks, and it suddenly hits him that this is betrayal. This is Ty, getting back at him. For leaving, for fucking Steve. This is --

"I didn't," Ty says again, and he steps closer. "Tony, I wouldn't. I wouldn't, you've got to believe me."

But Tony shakes his head, because he sees now. He sees all of it. The drink, and the crack, the fucking. The way Ty would grip the back of his neck when he went down on him, hold him there in such a way that Tony never quite managed to feel safe.

The golden undersheath paints it's way over his skin. A repulser materialises in one hand. Hums.

"Step closer and I'll blow your balls off."

"Tony -- "

He gears up, ready to shoot.

Ty steps back.

"Tell the truth." Tony says. "Just tell the truth. Come on. Redeem yourself. Did you smoke crack before you came? Did you? Did you knowingly smoke crack and then come to see me?"

Ty swallows. "Yeah." He says. "Yeah I did. But only because I didn't want to miss the -- "

"No." Tony says. "Not good enough. You could have called me, and we could have rearranged."

"You told me not to call."

"Irrelevant. You could have taken a fucking shower. Changed your clothes. You chose to come out here smelling like that. Why? Do you want me back on crack, Ty? Is that it? Do you want me coming to you for my fix."

"Jesus, Tony, how could you -- "

"Tell the truth. You're lying an awful lot, Ty, and I'm getting sick of it. Are you obsessed with me, is that it?"

"Do you hear yourself? Obsessed with you? You sound manic, Tony, have you even taken your pills? Are you -- "

"Extremis does that for me."

Ty raises an eyebrow. "Extremis keeps your moods balanced? I find that very fucking unlikely."

"Do you?" Tony says casually as his repulsers whine "That's unfortunate. If you don't start telling the truth you'll see just how unstable I can be."

Ty's fists curl by his side. "What do you want to hear?"

"What do you do now, Ty? Who are you working for?"

"Freelance. Media. You know that."

"Oh yeah? Viastone. Where do you spend your days? You have an awful amount of free time on your hands."

Ty glares. "I've run into some monetary issues."

"Why didn't you tell me."

"Because I want to be good for you." Ty says painfully, as if saying the words is like drawing blood from a stone. "Because I don't want to be the bankrupt billionaire who wasted his daddy's money and has a borderline drug addiction. That's not what you need."

"Oh really." Tony says, and the repulsers power down. "That's what this is about. You just love me so fucking much, right?"

"I know it's hard to believe." He says, dryly. "I don't love easily."

"I know." Tony says, this time quiet. "I don't think you've ever loved anyone in your life, Tiberius."

"I love you."

"No you don't."

"Don't tell me who I love."

"You love the idea of loving me. I don't think you know what love is. Love is... love isn't what we have, Tiberius. What we had."

"Oh?" Ty says, raising an eyebrow. "And you know what love is, do you. After Whit, and Ru, and Potts. You know what love is."

"I've loved. I fuck it up, but I love."

"The same way you love your captain." Ty sneers. "You love him. How long till you break him, too?"

"Who knows." Tony says. "He won't leave me."

Ty actually laughs, and laughs, and laughs. "Right," he says, hysterical. "Sure, okay. The same," he has to take a breath to contain his laughter "the same way Pepper wouldn't leave you? The same way," his breath hitches "the same way Ru wouldn't leave you? Right up until she was fucking me, of course."

The repulsers power up again, this time sharp, and fast. Enough to sound out of control.

"I don't know why I bother with you." Tony grits.

"I do." Ty says. "Because I just told you you're unlovable. And for some reason, you're still standing here. What are you waiting for? Fuck off, fly away, go on. You know you can. Go back to your tower, your captain, your fucking dog. It's all waiting for you."

"I don't -- "

"You need me, Tony. You fucking need me. I berate you, and berate you, and berate you, and you come back for more. What is that? Why is that? I test and test and see how far it'll take you and you still stay. Why? What do you see in me? Is it me? Or do you just like the pain?"

Tony powers down in response.

Stands there.

Hangs his head.

"Yeah," Ty says softly "see? You don't know what it is. You know why? That's love, Tony. You can hate me all you want. But you love me. And I love you."

Tony closes his eyes, brow furrowing. "I have a nightmare." Tony murmurs.

"What?"

He looks up. "I have a nightmare. This same nightmare. I've had it since I was a kid."

"A man, coming through your window."

"Right."

"I know. I know that. I've woken you up before. Don't you remember? At the summer house. You used to make me check there was no one outside, or under the bed."

Tony's smile is brittle. "Why did you indulge me."

"You were scared."

"Sure." Tony says. "Scared."

"I don't see where this is going."

Tony shrugs, looks up at the trees. "You never came here."

"You never invited me."

"It wasn't my place. And you would have hated it. My parents -- you would have hated it."

Ty steps forward once more, and Tony blocks off his nasal sensors in one flick of his neurones. 

"I would have come for you."'

Tony nods, and looks at the trees. "I'm seeing Steve now."

"That doesn't mean we can't fuck."

Tony stares at him, sharp. "Yes. It does."

Ty thumbs under his chin, lifts up his head. "You have such a beautiful neck." He murmurs. He moves in, goes for a kiss.

"No." Tony says, and he just shakes his head. "This is why I'm here. We're not doing this anymore. Not now, not ever."

"If you didn't love me, you would have left."

Tony snorts. "What, was that a test? 'Let's make Tony want to kill himself and if he doesn't leave, that must mean he loves me?' That's pathetic, Ty. You must see that that's pathetic."

"What -- "

"I'm here to tell you that we're not going to see each other anymore. Period. I didn't leave, because when I run from you, you have this funny little habit of catching up with me. This is it. This is me, telling you, fuck off. I don't love you. I don't want you. Right now, I'm close to despising you. I came to you when I was desperate, and when I was so close to killing myself that I would have fucked the hulk if it meant having someone hold me, understand? I gave you the benefit of the doubt because we were friends, once. You were good for me, at Harwell. But we're not children anymore."

Tony slides the suit out of his bones, over his body, blue light flooding the grounds. Ty steps back, shields his eyes. "You don't mean it," he says "you'll come back."

"Don't count on it. I'm going to ask you one last time to leave me alone. If you call, or text, or email, I have no qualms about taking out a restraining order. No more waiting in my lobby until I get out of the shower. No more following me on my daily walks. It's weird, and stalkerish, and I will get my boyfriend to beat you up."

Ty sneers. "You'll come back."

"Okay." Tony says, dismissively. "Have a nice Christmas, have a nice life. Try and settle down, yeah? You're forty. The lone ranger thing is getting old."

He doesn't stick around to hear what Ty has to say next.


	109. Chapter 109

Everyday, Steve sits down with Bucky.

Tries to get him to talk.

"Do you remember this?" He says, pointing to a photo of him and Howard, testing a rifle. "That's Stark, Howard Stark. Tony's dad."

"I killed him."

Steve swallows. "Yeah," he says "maybe, maybe you did. Do you remember him?"

"I remember him. I killed him."

"But do you remember -- "

"I remember him from before, yes. He was very clever. He was homosexual. He wore red ties. His favourite food was venison. He was german. I remember Howard Stark."

Steve nods, clears his throat. "So Tony," he says one day "tell me about that. Why were you following him?"

Bucky's eyes narrow. "He was my -- "

"Mission, I know. Why. Did someone want you to kill him, is that it? And you decided to save him instead? Or were you always trying to help him? Is that your mission? Keeping him alive?"

Bucky frowns. "My head hurts."

"Try to power through it. Just ten more minutes, and then you can go, I swear."

Bucky frowns, but doesn't fight Steve's ruling. "I don't remember."

"Bucky," Steve says, voice low "I don't think that's true."

"I don't remember."

Steve rubs his own temples, tries not to snap. This isn't right. Bucky is, this isn't right.

He doesn't talk. He doesn't interact. Aside from the occasional grunt, he keeps to himself. 

His head hurts, he says. Can he leave? His head is hurting. He needs to go back to his floor. His head won't stop throbbing, Steve, it won't stop aching. Leave him alone.

(Steve has consulted doctors, they've run the tests. It's psychosomatic, but Bucky doesn't know that.)

"Bucky," Steve says again, but then his voice falters. "Never mind."

They sit in silence.

Time goes by.

Tony walks in, tablet in one hand, apple in the other. When he sees them, he freezes.

Shall I go? He mimes.

Steve shakes his head. "It's fine." He says tiredly. "We're just... talking."

Tony raises his eyebrows and takes a seat at the table. He looks at Bucky for a long time, but the other man doesn't acknowledge his existence.

Eventually, he just shrugs. Takes a bite of the apple.

"I think," Bucky says suddenly "Howard."

Tony's eyes flick from Steve to Bucky, pretending not to listen.

"What about him?" Steve asks, eager for interaction.

"I was thinking." Bucky says slowly, eyes distant. "About that night." He turns to Tony. "How can you sit here?"

Tony blinks. "Excuse me?"

"How can you sit here knowing I snapped your mother's neck?"

Tony's eyes slide to Steve's and then back to Bucky. He sets down his tablet. "Well," he says, swallowing his apple. "You saved my life."

"I killed your parents." Bucky says frown forming. "I, I remember. It was snowing."

"Bucky -- " Steve starts.

Tony holds out a hand, shushing him. "What happened?" He asks quietly.

Bucky looks at him like he's never seen him before. "I followed them from the gala."

"Who was driving?" Tony asks urgently. 

"Howard. Howard was driving."

"Did he crash?"

"No." Bucky says, distant. "I -- "

His fingers play with the photo on the table.

"I followed them in my car. He had found me. I remember -- "

"What does that mean?" Tony says. "He found you? What do you mean?"

"The Winter Soldier. He found me. He found HYDRA. The woman -- the wife. Your mother, sorry. She -- she had hidden it, from him."

"Hidden what?"

Bucky frowns. "You don't know."

"Tony -- "

"Not now, Steve. Bucky, what had she hidden?"

"The butler."

Tony stops. Just stops. "What about the butler?" He murmurs.

"It was snowing." Bucky says. "Howard had found out about HYDRA. He hid it as long as he could, years. He knew, though. He knew death was coming, too."

"Bucky, the butler. What about the butler?"

"And he was trapped. He must have known for years. But then the man found out."

"The man?" Tony asks sharply. "The butler?"

"The businessman. Stane. He found out. I remember. I remember him telling me," Bucky frowns "I remember. He wanted you dead. He wanted the whole family dead. He said, he said 'any trace of those Stark's gone, not a single one remaining'."

"But what about the butl -- "

"And that night I got in the car they gave me," Bucky continues, irregardless of Tony's questions "and I took my gun. Because car accidents do not necessarily result in death. And no one looks for bullet wounds in a car crash."

Tony blanches. "Stop it." He mutters.

Bucky frowns, squeezes his eyes shut tight. "It was snowing. I heard, they argued. And then Howard stopped. He just stopped the car." He opens his eyes. "I think he knew, then."

"That's enough." Steve says gently. "We've heard enough."

"There's more, though." Bucky says, not noticing or not caring. "He got out. I was watching. The woman started screaming -- "

"That's my mother you're talking about, use her goddamned name."

"Tony." Steve warns. 

"Howard recognised me. And he said 'it's really you' so, so I remember that. He told the woman -- Maria, he told Maria to get out the car. She didn't. Uh," Bucky frowns, taps his head. "He asked, he asked if I would let her go, and I shook my head."

Tony's braces his head on his hand, covering his eyes, leaning back in his seat.

"He asked," Bucky's voice falters, and he finally looks at Steve. "This is where, I get confused."

"Just get through what you can." Steve prompts, gently.

"He asked, before that, I think. No," Bucky shakes his head "he tells Maria to get out of the car, and then he asks, he asks 'my son, are you going to kill him too?' and that's when, I remember, I remembered a boy, there was a boy, and I can't -- " Bucky pushes back. "I can't think. I can't think. I was supposed to kill you but I didn't. Why didn't I kill you?" 

He stands, pushes his hands against the table so fast that it's pressed against Tony's chest, squashing his belly. "I killed your mother first. I broke her neck. I fucked up her face so badly it wasn't even -- and then I killed your father, too. Sliced his belly so it would look like an accident and burnt his face. And I put him back in the car and crushed the bumper, the windows. But I didn't kill you, and I remember they asked me why. I told them I couldn't remember. And they wiped me."

Bucky growls, and he smashes his beer bottle onto the table. He holds it up, wrenches the table back, and goes for Tony's head. "Why didn't I kill you?" He spits. "Why didn't I -- "

Steve yanks back his arm as Tony sits there, undersheath up, silent. 

"Buck," Steve says, swinging him round "Buck it's okay. It doesn't matter. You don't need to he's not your mission, understand? Listen to me, Tony is not your mission, because you don't have one, you're free to -- "

"I was wiped." He spits out. "They wiped me. It was my longest run without being -- I had nearly gone twenty years without it, and they wiped me because I got too soft."

Steve carefully takes the bottle from Bucky's hand, throws it behind him. "But it's okay, now." He says. "You're here. And SHIELD's gone."

Bucky stands there, breathing. He wrenches free.

He looks at Tony for a long time, and then back to Steve.

"I'm going to Natasha." He says eventually, and pushes him away.

"Jarvis," Steve mutters "watch him."

They stand in silence.

"I'm sorry." Steve says, voice low. "I'm sorry you have to hear that."

"It's fine." Tony says dully. "I asked, so. I mean we weren't even that close."

"Still," Steve murmurs "no child should have to hear something like that."

Tony sniffs, and the undersuit retracts. "Yeah," he says "well. I'm going, I'm going to go think. Uh."

"Wait," Steve says "come here."

He folds Tony into his arms and the smaller man shudders. Curls his warm hands round the back of Steve's head.

"He's not getting better." Steve whispers into the material of Tony's sweater. "I don't know what to do."

The tables turn, and suddenly Tony is the comfort giver. "He needs time."

"It's not about that. He remembers. It's almost like... he doesn't care."

Tony draws back, cups Steve's face with his hands. "About you? Is that it?"

"It's like I never got him back at all."

Tony swallows. "Steve," he says "Steve you have to be practical."

"You think maybe he'll never be... the same?"

"No," Tony says, voice measured "but, but be rational."

"You don't think I should push?"

Tony steps back, picks up his tablet. "Two things," he says, looking up. "Okay? Hear me out. One, I think you need to let Natasha do exactly whatever it is she's doing."

"I'm -- "

"Two, you need to step back. When he's ready, he'll come to you. If he never does, well," Tony holds up his hand "you've lost him before. At least now there's a chance that you'll be able to start again."

Steve feels irritated, suddenly. "You're right. I should just give up. That's what I should do."

Tony closes his eyes. "I'm not arguing with you, Steve."

"Well it sounds a lot like -- "

Tony shakes his head. "No. I'm not arguing with you. You wanted to have this conversation so that's what we're doing."

For a moment, Steve wants to fight. But then he sees Tony, and he remembers how he'd blanched, and he settles back down.

"Yeah." He says. "Yeah okay. No you're right. You're right." He rubs his hair. "I need to wait. Natasha, Natasha knows what to do."

Tony looks vaguely pleased at being listened to and sits back down. "What do you think he meant." He says, looking up. "About my mom. And Jarvis."

"The butler."

"Yeah."

Steve shrugs. "Tony, I think you're the only one who can answer that."

Tony runs his fingers over the glass screen of the tablet, drills his nails against the surface. "Paul, mentioned it, ages ago. He said, 'you don't know?' and then he was shot in the head."

"Maybe it doesn't mean anything."

Tony falls quiet and taps. 

"Tony," Steve sighs "Tony."

"What?"

"You obviously feel like it means something."

Tony stops typing, but he doesn't look up. "You know, he just disappeared? Jarvis? And," Tony shrugs "I can't, I don't know. There's no way I can describe it to you. But he wouldn't have done that. Even if he was dying, he wouldn't have just left and not, not said bye."

Steve quietens. "You were real close, huh?"

Tony shrugs.

Steve draws up a chair, sits. "So what happened." He says. "Tell me."

Tony scratches his finger into the wood of the table. "Doesn't matter." He mutters.

Steve reaches across the table and takes his hand in his. "I does." He says. "And I want you to tell me."

Tony swallows. "He was just my. My, uh. Babysitter." He frowns as if the words haven't come out right, and Steve can tell he doesn't know which ones to use.

"Try again." Steve says gently.

"He raised me."

"Better."

Tony laughs, slightly. "Yeah, I mean. I went to college. And one day I came back home and he wasn't there."

"What did your parents say?"

"Nothing. My dad bought me a car to try and ease the blow. But they wouldn't tell me where he'd gone. God, Steve, I -- " he shakes his head "I've never been so angry. Ever. I, if someone had given me a gun, I would have killed both of them. Instant."

Steve swallows. "You never found out where he went?"

"He died. He wrote me a letter. After, when my parents died, Obie showed me the letter. It was, uh, AIDs. He was gay. Apparently everyone I grew up with was gay. That's, that's a thing."

Steve listens carefully. "Stane gave you the letter after your parents died?"

"After the funeral."

"Where did he get it from?"

"My," Tony falters "he. Someone must have sent it. Whoever was looking after, looking after Jarvis, they would have sent it."

"Have you got a copy?"

"I lost the original when my house was blown up."

"A scan?"

"Uh," Tony closes his eyes, rummages through his internal computer. "Yeah I have a scan."

"What does it look like?"

Tony opens his eyes. "It looks like a letter, what's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, could it look like was forged."

Tony blinks. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, could Obadiah have faked Jarvis' death to make you rely on -- "

"What, you think, you think Jarvis would have just let that happen? That he would have left me for years and years and years? That's, that's stupid, that's -- "

"I'm sorry." Steve blurts. "That wasn't what I meant."

Tony snatches up the tablet. "Yeah well that's what it sounds like."

"Listen," Steve says, easing him back down. "I meant, is it possible, that Jarvis played a bigger role in this. Bucky said that your mother knew, and that she didn't tell Howard. And he said that Howard knew Obie was HYDRA, and he knew HYDRA was SHIELD. It's possible -- "

"Stop it." Tony says, smoothing his hand out from under Steve's. "I -- " he shakes his head. "Yeah. Look, we're obviously tense. I'm going to the workshop. Just, just don't worry about it."

"Tony."

"It's fine." He snaps. "Leave me. I need to work, anyway. Clint told me to remind you to invite Sharon and Sam to the Christmas party."

"Okay." Steve says, exhaling. "I'll drop them a line."

"Great." Tony says, but he's obviously distracted. "That's just great."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE PLOT THICKENS, LIKE A WELL STIRRED MILKSHAKE, OR MAYBE STEBE'S DICK


	110. Chapter 110

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for mention of underage, implied torture, things along that vein

Tony takes Fucknut and a cup of coffee and sits on his couch, surrounded by the hum of his engines, and the dull blue lights.

He sighs, and scratches behind the dog's ears. Smoothes his hand down his back, and thinks. 

So Bucky seemed to think that there was something up with Jarvis, that his mother knew about. And his father, apparently, knew that Obie was HYDRA all along, which kinda makes, well, it gives his father's pleas to ignore him a bit more meaning. He draws up in his head the letter he scanned in years ago, from his father, saying that Obie couldn't be trusted. At the time, he had been so, so angry.

Not that it matters now. Obie is dead and Howard is dead and Maria is dead and Jarvis is dead.

Fury had promised him answers, he remembers. He had been drunk at the time, but he's sure that they had talked. Fury had promised to send him answers, that was it. He was going to send them. Well where the fuck are they?

Damn Fury, fucking his mother then waltzing off. God, there's so much he just doesn't want to even think about. His whole family is a fucking disaster area.

Dog whines and curls up, spilling off of his lap. He really is too big, now. Tony should look into training. Hire someone to walk him. He doesn't really have time anymore, although he does enjoy it. He sighs, and huffs when Dog rests his muzzle on his shoulder, tongue wetting his ear.

"You big baby." He mumbles, roughing up his fur. "Yeah you. I'm talking to you."

Fucknut just gives him the guileless look he's so good at and sticks out his tongue, panting.

"You big lump," Tony mutters "God you're like a fucking sausa -- "

"Tony?"

Tony turns on the couch to the door, sees Natasha standing there, arms folded. He blinks.

"Natasha. Hi." He looks back at the dog. "We weren't kissing."

"I didn't say that."

"I'm just, you know. In your position, my first thought would be 'was he kissing the dog', but I wasn't. Our noses are just very close."

"I believe you."

Tony is incredibly out of his depth when he's talking to Natasha.

"Can I come in?" She asks.

Tony stares. "Uh," he says "sure. Sure, let me just, clear up a bit -- "

"Don't bother." She says, and she just sits down on the couch next to him. Faces ahead.

Her eyes are red.

He stares. "Are you -- " 

He just swallows his words. Can't finish them. 

They sit in silence.

Natasha takes the sleeve of her hoody and draws it under her eye. Shakes out her hair.

"Are you okay." Tony says again, voice low.

She shrugs. "I needed, uh," she looks away. "I don't know. To talk, I think. Or maybe just. Sit."

"I can do that."

Natasha nods, perches her hands on her knees.

Quiet, again.

"You never read my file." She says eventually.

"I didn't." Tony agrees.

She looks at him. "Why didn't you read my file."

Tony sighs, looks down. Scratches Dog's ear absently. "Because you've done bad things." He says simply. "I can't... I can't forget, that."

"Yeah." She says, turning back to face ahead. "Yes. But I mean, but if you knew that, would you not want to know what I've done?"

Tony pauses. "Honestly, I like you too much to read it. It's, think of it as an invasion of privacy."

"I don't." She said. "I wrote yours. And then released it to the world."

"True," Tony says "but I mean." He sighs. "What's done is done. It's over now. I'm okay. No harm."

"You know," she says "the whole time you were, you were ill. I couldn't quite shake the feeling that it was my fault."

"I'm bipolar. Nothing you can do."

"You know that if I hadn't -- "

"Yeah." Tony interrupts. "But you did. And what? Here we are. I'm in a relationship with a man I love, my best friend is back running by company. I have the time to do the things I love. I have an awesome dog. It doesn't matter. What happened, it's over."

Natasha clears her throat. "I suppose -- I just never said sorry. So sorry."

"Apology accepted, but whatever."

She nods. "Thank you."

"You don't need to -- "

"It's important I get forgiveness from people. I can't change what I've done, but I respect you. So it's important."

Tony falls quiet again. Stands. "Do you want coffee?" He murmurs. 

She looks up, and there are more tears in her eyes. She nods.

The water boils in silence, and he pours it out into two cups. Adds sugar to his, and then whipped cream to Natasha's. Puts a marshmallow on top and sprinkles it with chocolate.

"Ta-da."

She snorts, even though her eyes are red. She wipes them down again with her sweater sleeves, holds her mug in both hands. Folds her legs up onto the couch.

"So this, I assume, wasn't just brought about because you love me so dearly," Tony says, sipping. "I wouldn't like to think you'd cry over me."

Natasha huffs and smiles, just slightly. "This is true." She says, voice croaking.

"Come on." Tony says softly. "You have to give me something to work with."

"You didn't read my file. Which is why, uh. It's part of the reason why I came to you. That, and... I think, strangely, you might have the most experience. With. With this."

"Hmm? And what is 'this'?"

"Barnes is..." she shakes her head. "This is difficult." She says. "You never read my file."

"Start at the beginning."

Natasha looks at him, dead in the eye. "It's patchy." She croaks.

"Tell me what you remember."

"You don't want to hear it."

Tony sets down his coffee. "I can read your file. If that's what you want. But I don't think you want that, and neither do I. If you don't want to tell me, say. If not," Tony leans back "I'm all ears."

Natasha pauses. And then she nods.

"I was one of 28 Black Widows agents with the Red Room."

"In Russia."

"Yes."

"What was the Red Room?"

Natasha looks away. "They took me when I was a child." She croaks. "From my family."

Tony stares at her for a long time.

"Why." He says eventually.

"Why does anything ever happen?" She says, half irritable. "Maybe they saw an opportunity. Maybe my father displeased the man in charge. Maybe they happened to be passing by and thought I would be good candidate. Maybe my mother sold me. Who knows?"

"What year was this?"

"1990." She shrugs. "I think. Could be earlier."

"How old were you?"

"Six."

Tony nods. What was he doing in 1990? Nothing good.

While he had been drinking and fucking and snorting his life away, a little girl was taken from her family.

"Natasha... isn't my name." She frowns. "I chose Romanoff because I remembered the princess. Like the royal family. I was eight, in my defence."

"It's sweet."

She snorts. "The man who took me. Ivan. He was..." she makes a face "he was high up, in the organisation. Used to bring me ribbons, and sweets. I thought I was special." Her eyes close. "The other girls resented it. One of them tried to smother me with a pillow, and I broke her neck. I was no older than ten."

Tony can't -- 

He can't comprehend exactly what he's hearing.

"They trained us. I learnt six languages. I was pushed to the edges of my capability. Full indoctrination. It's still, Tony. There are days when I'm not sure where I am. There are so many days when someone will say something, or I'll be fighting, and I'll think, or my first instinct will be, 'that goes against the Soviet supremacy'. Even now."

"They brainwashed you." Tony says, voice low.

"Yes, but that was to be expected. It wasn't until -- "

She swallows.

"When I eight, Ivan took me out of my lessons. He explained that I had been chosen for a special role. They took me into a room and put me in a white smock -- I still remember all of this, like it was yesterday. They lay me down on a gurney and put IV's in my arms. They drugged me with something so I couldn't move. And then they started to inject me, with, with whatever it was."

Natasha looks at him, but this time she doesn't look sad. "Whatever it was," she repeats "was the same thing Bucky has running through his veins. A super soldier serum, bought off of HYDRA. Or stolen."

"I never knew."

"Not many people do. Physically, outwardly, there's no significant difference. Other things. Longer lifespan. Faster reflexes. Stronger. More intelligent. It took a few sessions to make it work. By the time they stopped, I was fourteen." 1998

Natasha rearranges her hands, places them on her knees. Clears her throat. "So I was sent on my first mission when I was sixteen. I impersonated a ballerina. That was my alibi, always. I think I even used it on my CV when I applied to be your assistant."

"I remember." Tony says dully.

"It made sense. I was a ballerina in the Bolshoi theatre. When the show was finished, I shot an oil baron in the head."

"You remember that."

"I remember. My next mission, I was a high-class prostitute for Russian generals. By this point, the USSR was finished. But the Red Room persisted in it's belief that it would once again be a world communist superpower. Anyway, I got the information I needed, killed a few men. End of story." 

Natasha sighs, twirls a finger round a lock of long red hair. "But then, I was only seventeen. I developed a... crush. It doesn't matter who it was, or why. You just need to know that I was infatuated enough to go against what I had been taught. By that stage, I was the Red Room's greatest asset. They couldn't afford to lose me. So that's when -- "

She swallows.

"The killed him, and that's when they wiped me for the first time."

Tony stares. "What?"

"Wiped me. Stuck electrodes on my head and wiped my -- "

"Like Barnes."

"Exactly like Barnes, yes. I know now that. At the time..." Natasha shrugs. "I lost a few years that way. Mission, wipe, mission. Forgot who I was, not that I had anything to start with."

"But now you're here."

"Yes. I was captured, in maybe... 2002, 2003. They held me for a few months. When I got free, I had the wherewithal not to go back." She swallows. "I never found out who those men were, the ones who used to wipe me, the one's in charge of it all. I remember Ivan. I haven't seen him since."

Tony can't process what he just heard. He can't match up the woman sitting in front of him with -- 

With the girl she's describing.

"What happened. To the Red Room?"

Natasha shrugs. "I don't look into it."

"Doesn't it scare you?"

"I can't dwell on it, so no. When I do, though..." she shakes her head "I'm too old for nightmares."

"I'm not."

She smirks, eyes red rimmed. "You weren't trained out of them."

Tony sips his now cold coffee. "So," he says, starting again. "Barnes."

"Barnes."

"You empathise, is that it?"

Natasha thinks. "I had a conversation with Steve, a while back. I told him much of what I told you just now. He thinks it's hopeful, that I was able to remember who I was eventually."

"But you're not so optimistic."

"I was wiped for a much shorter period than James. I didn't have so much to remember. And I don't think I ever did recover, or become the person I was before."

Tony nods. "So," he rubs his eyes "look, I'm just gonna say it, you were crying. Is this some kind of, I don't, trip down memory lane you didn't want to take, or -- "

"Oh," she says, looking vaguely confused. "What? No, no. I was happy."

"You were happy." Tony repeats, slowly. 

"Yes."

"Then why did you come down here?"

She shrugs. "To make sure it was real, I suppose."

Natasha stands, sudden and brisk and authoritative. "This was fun. You make nice coffee."

Tony blinks. "What, that's it?"

"Yes. I'm glad you and Steve are together, he balances you out."

"Natasha -- "

She absently scratches Dog's ears. "He's getting big." She says, and then she frowns. "I don't think golden retrievers are supposed to be this big."

"He likes to eat." Tony says, momentarily distracted, and defensive.

"Mmm." She agrees. "Well I'll be seeing you. Goodbye."

Tony just shakes his head. "Yeah," he says, waving a hand "whatever."

Natasha is a strange woman, he thinks. She and Barnes deserve each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we interrupt this scheduled DICKFEST to give you some Natasha
> 
> also i have a problaemo. Basically, I usually have loads of chapters written far in advance so I can just post everyday.
> 
> Right now, I have two. Like, I wrote this chapter a couple of days ago. 
> 
> I'm on Christmas break soon (!!!!!) and I'll have plenty of time then, and probably even next week too, but if the chapters suddenly stop, you'll know why.
> 
> It won't be for long. Just until I get ahead a little. But here's a warning.


	111. Chapter 111

It's starts snowing later that evening.

Steve smiles. It's nice. Comforting, even. Christmas is a few weeks out, and it's good timing.

He says goodnight and makes his way to their floor. "Jarvis?" He whispers "Is Tony sleeping?"

"Sir was waiting for you; I'm afraid tiredness got in the way."

Steve smiles, yawning. Splashes his face with water, changes into his sleep clothes. Tony's there, on his side, breathing softly, deeply asleep. He doesn't even twitch when Steve climbs in next to him.

He does, however, allow himself to be rolled so he's lying tucked under Steve's arm, warm. Although these rooms are never cold, watching the snow fall makes him shiver.

Tony snuffles, and wriggles closer.

Steve watches the snow for a long, long time.

 

He's awoken by Tony's shifting. The way his hands tighten on the sheets, and his breath hiccups, just slightly.

Steve waits, frozen, until he hears the whimper. Then, gently, he sits up.

"Tony," he soothes, gently shaking his arm. "Hey, Tony."

Tony's face is screwed shut tight. Jarvis raises the lights to a low setting, and Steve rolls Tony round till he's on his back.

"Tony," he says again "wake up, now. Come on, Tony."

Tony frowns and tries to knock himself out of Steve's grip.

The lights flash on, and then off. On, and off.

"Tony," Steve says, with slightly more urgency "Tony, you're playing with the lights. Stop it."

Tony moans and his leg kicks against Steve's thigh. He winces, and flips over the covers, gently kneels over Tony's form.

"Hey. He says again. "Hey, wake up. Tony wake up."

The air conditioning turns on, at full blast. Steve hisses, and rolls Tony onto his back, shakes his shoulders.

"Tony, wake up."

Tony's face scrunches, and a small sob escapes his lips.

"Wake up, Tony, Tony please, it's me, you're -- " he hears the water in the bath start up "you're making everything go haywire. Come on."

"Ssss," Tony gasps "ssss-ssste -- "

"It's just me," Steve says, and failing anything else, he remembers what he was taught. "Okay." He moves back, off of the bed, and turns off the water manually. The air conditioner, and the lights. Draws up a seat. This clearly is not a nightmare, it's a night terror. The best thing to do is wait it out. Nothing is worse, Steve knows, than being awoken, only to be more confused when your eyes open, still locked in the dark.

Tony actually sobs, then, and Steve places a hand on his forehead. Gently shushes him.

He knew Tony had nightmares. He hadn't realised they were so bad.

"Steve," he sobs, and it's just that one word "Steve, please. Come back, please."

"I'm here." Steve says, unwavering. "I'm here, Tony, can you hear me? Jarvis, is he dreaming?"

Jarvis' voice bursts from the speakers and then fades to static. Tony, he assumes, interfering with the frequency.

Tony wails and rolls onto his back, head tossing on the sheet. "P-p-p-please, oh please, please -- "

It hurts too much, it just hurts. Seeing someone you love, seeing them cry, seeing them shake. He wants to grab Tony and slap him until he wakes up and screams and then settles back down into his arms, do anything to just ease him back down, spare him the fear.

Instead he holds his hand.

Tony screams in fear, just lies there, voice hoarse, roaring at the ceiling. He sobs, screams, sobs, screams, and it might be one of the worst things Steve's ever seen in his life.

"Please, Jarvis," he hisses "tell me he's okay."

"I am attempting to wake Sir as carefully as possible, please do not disrupt my work."

"Don't leave." Tony moans "Stop them, stop them, just stop them!"

"Tony!"

"Don't go!" Tony inhales sharply "Please, please, please stop them."

"Sir." Jarvis, says, voice low.

Tony screams again and sobs, head thrashing on the pillows. He doesn't say anything else, just shouts himself hoarse.

Shoots up, grabbing at the sheets. "STEVE?!" He cries "STEVE?" His hands fumble with the blanket on Steve's side of the bed and he starts to bawl. "Where -- where -- "

"I'm here," Steve says, taking his wrist. "Hey I'm here, Tony, it's okay."

Tony wails and swings one hand round to hold onto Steve's shoulder, squeezing, squeezing, and Tony is ten times stronger than he used to be, what with the metal in his bones, enough that it bruises and Steve winces.

But he stays strong. "Just hold on, it's okay." He whispers, staring at Tony's frantic eyes. "You see? That's me. I'm here. I'm Steve. I'm Steve, and we're in your bedroom. It's snowing. It's nearly Christmas. You might be scared because earlier we talked about HYDRA. This is New York, understand? This is New York and you're safe."

Tony pants. Rocks, slightly. His eyes screw shut and then open.

"Say it again." He whispers.

"I'm Steve. We're in your bedroom in your tower in New York. It's snowing because it's nearly Christmas. You are safe. No one wants you dead. No one is after you. We are in your bedroom, understand? We are safe. Even if someone wanted you, I am here. I would not let anyone touch you. Do you understand?"

Tony shudders, a full bodied thing. "Again. Please." He adds.

Steve repeats the words again, and again, and again, until Tony's breathing evens out. His fingers grip his shoulder so tight that Steve has to pry them away.

"D-don't g-g-go." Tony blurts. "I'm sorry. G-god, I'm sorry. D-did I wake you up? Of c-course I woke you up, that's stupid. I'm sorry. J-just stay for a while, I c-c-can g-go back to sleep. I won't wake you up again, I p-pr-promise. Just wait. P-please, let me sleep before -- "

Steve doesn't say anything, he doesn't think it would be welcome. Instead, he just climbs back under the sheets and pulls Tony close.

He presses his head to the crook of Steve's neck and sobs.

Steve brushes his hair, gentle.

Tony fists his hands in his shirt.

Steve rubs a line down his back.

Tony leaves wet marks on his shoulder.

Steve presses kisses to his damp brows.

"Don't go." Tony whispers against his skin. "Please don't go. Never go. I couldn't fucking take it, understand? And I would never say this, never, unless -- please don't go. Please just don't fucking leave me."

"I love you."

Tony shudders again and Steve holds him closer, pulls him onto his lap and lets him curl there.

There's a scratching at the door, and it swings open. Dog jumps onto the bed, turns circles until Tony lets him squeeze between both of them, pushing his head to bump against their chins.

He laughs, although he's still crying. "Fucknut." He mutters.

The dog just licks his cheek and buries closer, a warmth against Steve's belly.

"He used to wake me up." Tony says, voice low, lying against Steve's chest. "When, when it was real bad. Those months. I wasn't, those days, I wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't. I couldn't -- " He stops, sighs, shaking. 

Steve kisses his head. "It's okay."

"I'm sorry I woke you up."

"Don't be ridiculous, Tony."

"If," Tony pauses "if it's a problem, I understand, you know? You can take the spare room. Or," he adds in a rush "you don't have to stay here if you don't want to I don't want to force you."

"I love you." Steve says again, and he smoothes his fingers round in little circles on Tony's arm.

He starts crying again, and Steve holds him firm.

"It's okay," he murmurs "Tony it's okay."

"It's not okay." He blurts. "It's fucking not."

"I'm here, and I love you, and you're safe."

"But for how much longer, yeah? You say, you say these things but fuck, how much longer until you change your mind and leave? Steve please you can't keep saying these things if you don't mean them."

"I do mean them."

"No, you don't!" Tony says, anger creeping into his hoarse voice.

Steve sighs, presses his head back down onto his chest. "I love you." He murmurs again. "That's all. I'm not leaving. I get that that's hard for you to... not understand, but just for that to sink in. It's okay. I'm not going anywhere."

"Don't leave."

"Did you miss what I just said?"

Tony closes his eyes, one hand resting on Dog's head. "Nothing makes sense." He mutters.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." Tony repeats. "I can't -- Steve, what am I?"

"You're a human being."

"Why, though. What are we? Why are we here?"

Steve thinks. "Tony," he says slowly "have you been taking your meds?"

"This isn't one of those things. It's a genuine question."

"I don't have an answer, unfortunately. You could -- you should talk to Thor."

"And how do you see that conversation going?"

Steve sighs. "That's true. But if you want answers -- really want them, then he's your man."

Tony shifts, scratches Dog's back. "It's snowing." He murmurs.

Steve turns. "Yeah. Has been, for awhile. It'll be packed out tomorrow."

Tony closes his eyes. "Mmm."

"You ready to sleep?"

Tony yawns. "Can we," he says "can we stay like this? Just," he snuggles down "if you're not comfortable, just."

"It's okay." Steve murmurs. "Whatever you want."

Tony exhales, eyes closing, as Steve gently strokes his hair from his forehead. "What did you see?" He says quietly.

"It doesn't matter."

"You were scared, it matters."

Tony goes quiet. "It's been a while since I woke up screaming," he says eventually "I was probably due an outburst."

"Don't say that."

"It's true."

Another pause. "Was it the wormhole?" Steve asks.

"No." Tony mutters.

"You said my name."

"It was a strange dream."

"I don't want to press it." Steve says.

Tony snorts. "And yet, you are." He closes his eyes. "I dreamed I fell, off the roof. I was lying there. I couldn't -- " Tony groans, softly. "You weren't -- nothing. Never mind. I don't want to talk about it."

"Come here." Steve says, and he shifts so that Tony lies, hips between his legs, head resting on his chest. He wraps his arms round, captures his hands in his grip, and presses kisses to his head. "Sleep." He says. "Let's just sleep. The holidays start tomorrow."

"Not for me."

"Yes for you," Steve chides "you're going to take time off, just like the doctor said. R&D will live without you. It's not like Potts is going to say no."

Steve waits for a reply, but Tony is fading. He stays awake until some hours pass. 

Just in case Tony gets scared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a lil' shmoopy thing bc *sings* stebe loves tony soooo much


	112. Chapter 112

That morning, they awake to bad news.

"President Ellis," the woman on the screen says "claims to have a list of some forty-eight senators with links to HYDRA in what is thought to be that largest terroristic exodus to date. As usual, in order to catch up on the latest indictments, click the link in the box below..."

"You think it's the truth?" Steve murmurs, sipping his coffee.

Tony shakes his head. "I think he's stuck in a corner." Tony says. "I think he doesn't know shit. But people are scared."

"What's he going to do?"

Tony looks at him, dead on. "Well, he'll just have to find some HYDRA, won't he?"

"But if he doesn't know, how -- "

Tony stares at the screen, and then back to Steve. "I think some senators will find their careers cut short pretty soon." Is all he says.

 

Over the next few days, the week before Christmas, Ellis' list changes from forty-eight to fifty-five to thirty-one. 

"He's stalling." Natasha says. "He knows he can't do shit."

"Watch how the list is majority democrat." Clint says. "Watch how he won't throw his own men under the bus."

Tony knows how this goes. And watching Steve's face, he thinks he does to.

"You think you're at risk?" Steve grunts, not looking up from the screen.

Tony shrugs. "Maybe. Maybe not. Pepper and I will... we'll sort something out."

"You hear that Samsung's HYDRA?" Bruce says.

"They're not HYDRA." Tony snorts. "That's Apple taking advantage. It's dangerous, is what it fucking is. This is how wars start."

"Maybe that's what they want."

Tony shakes his head. "No. This is attempted damage control. Let's see what Ellis has to say. Then we'll see."

 

On Christmas Eve, Tony does something he hasn't done in a long, long, long time.

He goes to church.

It wasn't -- 

Look, he's not searching for a messiah, or, or some kind of sign. He could never quite get behind it.

But he's looking for answers. Science has failed. Who knows, maybe this is it.

(That's a lie: Tony isn't going back because he wants answers. He's going back because he wants to capture something he hasn't felt since he was a child)

It's the same church his mom used to take him to, except at four o'clock it's near empty, despite being Christmas Eve.

There are candles. That same smell of incense. God, does it ever change? He feels like he's six again.

He should kneel. That is, that is what you're supposed to do. Kneel, and pray. Except, ooh, yeah, no. He can't do that. Feels like giving in, really.

He checks his watch. Why is he hear? He could be at home, with Steve, watching the Wizard of Oz. Clint has this thing where he insists on a real fire, so he's made one in the fireplace Tony has used exactly never. There would be Christmas food. He could wear a red jumper. It would be nice.

Think of it as a reward, he tells himself. This is your penance. Figure yourself out.

It's very quiet.

There's a low hum. Footsteps, the leather of shoes hitting stone. Heels.

Like his mother's. His mother's shoes would make that noise.

Tony slumps into one of the pews, rubs his hair back from his head. Too much. HYDRA, and work, and --

"Is that Tony Stark?" He hears someone whisper, and it occurs to him that the last thing he wants is this all over twitter.

He stands, abruptly, and ducks into a small wooden hall, left of the alter. He hears footsteps, so he quickly slips behind a door, waits until he hears them pass.

"Hello? Is someone there? Don't be shy, please sit."

Tony freezes. "Uh," he says "no, I'm not here for. For that."

The man chuckles. "You're in the room, aren't you?"

"I was trying to avoid someone."

"You can't avoid sin."

Tony actually laughs a little at that, and turns. A little room with a wall, just a wooden lattice to stop him from seeing the man sitting adjacent. "You're a priest, then."

"You would assume so, right?" The priest says.

"Do I have to call you father?"

"Not if you don't feel comfortable."

"Good." Tony says, sitting at the chair. "Right. How does this go, again?"

"You make the sign of the cross."

Tony makes a lazy movement with his hand. "Done. And then what?"

"How long has it been since your last confession?"

"Uh," Tony swallows "bless me, father, for I have sinned. It's been, oh I don't know, forty-one years since my last confession."

"That's a long time."

"Is this usually how this goes?"

"Usually people search for me. They don't slide in because they're trying to avoid someone." The priest drawls.

Tony snorts. "Yeah well, what you gonna do about it?"

"I'll start by asking you what you want to confess."

Tony sighs. "Oh, father. Where do I begin?"

"Have God and the pursuit of sanctity in Christ been the goal of your life? Have you denied your faith? Have you placed your trust in false teachings or substitutes for God? Did you despair of God's mercy?"

"One at a time, jeez. Well I haven't actually been to church since I was six, so. No."

"Well there's a start."

"Aren't you supposed to absolve me?"

"That takes time. Have you avoided the profane use of God's name in your speech? Have you broken a solemn vow or promise?"

Tony winces. "If you mean saying 'oh my God -- "

The priest sighs. 

"Then yeah. And also, I guess. Repeatedly. But I mean, I'm human, bite me."

"I'll pass. Have you shown Christlike respect to parents, spouse, and family members, legitimate authorities? Have you been attentive to the religious education and formation of your children?"

Tony laughs. Just laughs.

"Fine. Have you cared for the bodily health and safety of yourself and all others? Did you abuse drugs or alcohol? Have you supported in any way abortion, "mercy killing," or suicide?"

"You're killing me. You're actually killing me. Yes, all of those things, Christ. I mean -- gosh. Multiple times, yes to all of them."

The priest pauses. "You're a substance abuser?"

"I was. I'm -- well, I haven't touched the white stuff for about twenty years. I'm... I'm a few months sober."

"Well that's good."

"Yeah."

"I know I ask these questions, but the most important thing is that you make these decisions for yourself. God knows that we can be waylaid. As long as you try, as long as your intentions are good, then honestly? I don't think he minds."

"And that's coming from you. God's mouthpiece."

"You hope so. I hope so."

Tony pauses. "You're an awful priest."

"You're an awful Catholic."

"I didn't devote ten years to training then give up fucking for the rest of my life."

"True. It's hard to be civil when I have people like you sitting opposite me."

"I really don't think you're allowed to say stuff like that."

The priest laughs. "There's always one. Is there anything else you want? Anything in particular you came to repent for?"

"I got lost."

"A sheep always finds it's way back to the flock."

"Okay, a) I meant literally, and b) no, it doesn't."

"You came to the church for a reason."

Tony sighs. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

Tony scratches the back of his neck, leans his head against the panelled wood. "You know when those aliens came down from the sky?"

"Hard to forget."

"Did you -- how many people have you had come in asking you about this?"

"We've had a spike in the number of babies being christened."

"See? People can't explain it."

"Can you not explain it?"

"There's never been anything I haven't been able to rationalise," Tony says "I just... seeing that, them. The Chitauri. Seeing space... makes you wonder."

"You wonder if there is a God?"

"I think there must be something. I mean, have you seen Thor?"

"Hmm. The 'God' that's causing a stir in the Vatican, has a few cults dedicated to him."

"Well where did he come from?"

"I imagine wherever God decided aliens are born. His own planet. Which would have evolved in much a similar way to ours."

"Yeah but they've got a whole different system up there. Rainbows and shit. The whole of space is out there, and it's filled with other civilisations, all living at the same time. And who put them there? Where did everyone come from?"

"God." The man says simply.

"Oh you're no fucking help." Tony grumbles.

"You're at a church, what did you expect?"

"I fuck men, too, how about that? And I support abortion. You must hate me."

The priest pauses. "Usually, this is supposed to be anonymous."

Tony blinks. 'Fuck' he thinks internally.

"I just, I have to ask. It's gonna drive me crazy. And if I'm right, then who knows, maybe one day I'll be able to laugh about it."

Tony swallows, and silently stands. Puts his hand on the door.

Carefully turns the handle.

"Are you Tony Stark?"

Tony winces, and as quietly as he can, opens the door.

"It's just," the priest says "if you are, I used to know you."

Tony pauses. "Excuse me?"

"So you are Tony Stark?"

"Well clearly. That wasn't a scam to get me to talk, was it?"

"Uh, no." There's some fumbling from behind the wood, and the sound of a chair being dragged over. And then there's a man looking down at him from over the partition.

Black hair greying, slightly podgier than when Tony knew him. Still freakishly tall, if he's able to stand and look over the wall.

Tony blinks. "Nick?"

The man blinks owlishly. "Shit," he says "what are the odds."

Tony wrenches back the door and stumbles into the other compartment. Stares. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I work here!"

"You work here? You mean, you're actually a priest?"

Nick gestures to the black shirt and white collar. "I was the last time I checked."

Tony shakes his head. "You're an awful priest."

"I'm unconventional."

Tony pauses. 

Nick stares.

"So." Tony says, eventually. "This is."

"I saw your meltdown."

Tony sucks his teeth. "Yeah well the last time I saw you, you weren't looking so hot."

"I found God."

"Clearly."

"Much in the same way you did."

"I haven't found God."

"You're here, that's enough."

Tony shakes his head. "No," he says "no I definitely haven't. My mom used to take me here. I was feeling nostalgic. That's all."

"That's all it takes."

Tony sighs. "Sure, Boyle. Whatever you want."

Nick pauses. "So, how have you been?"

"Me? You know how I've been, it's in the news often enough. What about you? How did you end up -- " Tony narrows his eyes "here."

"I was weak."

Tony looks left and right, and then steps closer. "Nick, you -- you're gay."

"Yes."

"Right. Okay. So this makes perfect sense."

"It doesn't matter too much when I'm actually celibate. God doesn't mind, as long as I put in the effort."

"This is ridiculous."

"Tony, you're the one who's got the strange career. At least being a priest is a real thing -- you became a superhero."

"It was a natural change. You were a drug addict, and then you became a servant of the Lord. Doesn't quite add up."

Nick raises his eyebrows, crosses his arms. "Yeah, well." He sighs. "I didn't have much else." He pauses. "You know, my dad's old company? HYDRA."

"You're joking."

Nick scoffs, shakes his head. "I got out at the right time. My brothers were taken for questioning." His eyes flick up. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"No." Tony says shortly. "Sorry."

Nick leans close. "Tony, they're not taking suspects to prison. They're just disappearing, and no one's saying anything."

Tony steps back. "Be careful what you say." He hisses.

"You have to know something."

"I had no idea."

"It's madness down here, Tony. No one's even reporting it. People go missing everyday and never come back. I bet half of them aren't even HYDRA, they're just scapegoats."

"Boyle, I can't discuss this with you."

"So you do know something. Stark, people are terrified."

"Keep your head down."

"My head is down, and so is yours. Tony, do something. The lord has -- "

"Oh, please." Tony spits. "Listen to me, Nick, because I won't say it again: I don't know anything about any disappearances. I have the news streaming through my head 24/7 and I haven't heard shit."

"You're looking in the wrong place." Nick scoffs.

Tony squeezes his eyes shut, and then flicks them back to Nick's wary face. "Look," he says "I'll look into it, because it's you, and because I figure I probably owe you anyway. But," he says viciously, pointing a finger "if you tell anyone, and I do fucking mean this you lanky assed bastard, that I was here, and that I said these things, I'm going to skewer your anus on stick and roast you with your replusers."

"That patented Stark charm. Never grows old."

Tony shakes his head. "Whatever, Nick. Is there a number I can contact you on?"

"I don't have a phone."

"Oh for fuck's -- fine. If I find out something, I'll come and find you, understand?"

"Crystal."

"And just," Tony makes a face "yeah. It was good seeing you."

"Don't lie."

Tony salutes, sliding out the door. "I'll get back to you."

"Have a merry Christmas, asshole. God bless you."

 

"I ran into an old friend." Tony says, later that night as he and Steve lie in bed.

Steve puts down his book. "Oh really?"

Tony turns onto his side, looks up at him. "Yeah." He says softly. He pauses. "You know, this Ellis thing -- "

"He's connected?"

"Not exactly. His brothers are alleged HYDRA. Been taken for questioning."

"Good."

Tony swallows. "Steve, you haven't heard of any disappearances, have you?"

Steve frowns. "What?"

"People disappearing. Being taken in the night. For... well. For being suspected HYDRA, or worse."

"I haven't heard anything."

Tony nods. Maybe Nick was just over-thinking. Come to think of it, he always did have a habit to over-exaggerate stories, twist the truth.

"Don't worry." Tony says, pressing a kiss to Steve's arm. "I'll look into it. It's probably nothing, he's a bit of a liar."

"Oh?" Steve says, raising an eyebrow. "He's not another Tiberius, is he?"

Tony snorts. "He's about the furthest thing from Tiberius Stone."

"How do you know him?"

"We shared a room at school. Weird kid. And that's coming from me."

"Where did you see him?"

Tony laughs. "I went to, uh, well. This old church, my mom used to take me to. We were talking about looking for answers -- "

"And you went to church?!"

"It's Christmas, I fancied nostalgia. Anyway, he was there. He's a priest, now. Last time I saw him, he was hooked on heroin."

"He's clean?"

"Appears to have turned his life around."

"Good for him." 

"Yeah," Tony says softly "good for him."

Steve hums and shoves his books aside, buries down under the covers. "You know it's Christmas tomorrow?"

"Really?" Tony says, amused. "I nearly forgot."

"Seems strange, celebrating. With everything that's going on."

"It's important to keep a facade of civility."

"I don't suppose the President is on your Christmas card list?"

"Yeah, along with Kim Jong-un and the leader of the KKK. Although I did actually get one from him."

"Well," Steve snorts "what's it you said? Keep a facade of civility."

"And to think Rhodey stopped that man from falling to his death. Should have let him burn."

"Talking about Rhodey," Steve says, wrapping an arm round Tony and pulling him close. "Will Carol be joining us tomorrow?"

"No."

"No?"

"I wouldn't mention it. It's a touchy subject right now."

"Gone downhill?"

Tony sighs. "It would appear so."

"Rhodes is a clever guy, he'll figure it out."

"Rhodes is a nice guy, who, although has no problem staring death in the face, is scared to chase after his girl. Too nice, Steve, there is such a thing, would you believe."

Steve closes his eyes, smiling. "I know that."

Tony snorts, and tucks his head onto Steve's shoulder. "I love you." He murmurs.

Steve kisses his head. "I love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: when i was still a practising catholic, i went to confession, and i told the priest straight out that i had trouble believing. He sighed and told me that he often advises young girls to look to their mothers and how they react to faith, and i mean, my mother's a muslim, so i'm not quite sure where he wanted me to go with that one.
> 
> also, just letting you know, i start holiday officially on saturday, so regular chapters will begin to start up again around that time


	113. Christmas 2015

"Tony, I don't want to sound rude -- actually, man, what the hell, are dogs supposed to be that big?"

Tony frowns at Sam, hitches Fucknut higher in his arms. The dogs pants happily, tongue hanging out, two paws resting on Tony's shoulders. "He likes to be carried." He says defensively.

"So what, he's getting fat?"

"He's still a puppy."

Sam stares. "Get that dog sorted out. I mean it. You're looking at a fucking Clifford right there, I'm telling you."

"Don't listen to him baby." Tony murmurs, covering his ears. "You're beautiful just the way you are."

Sam snorts and sips his drink. "So this is deja vu."

"Not really."

"Oh?"

"I mean last year I was hanging on the edge of a breakdown and trapped in a loveless relationship, so it's not quite the same, you know?" He ruffles Dog one last time and places him on the ground, takes his drink.

Sam nods. "I can see that. And, uh, hey. Congrats on you and the Captain. You're really robbing the cradle with one."

"Technically, I'm the one robbing the cradle." Steve says, coming up to press a kiss to Tony's cheek. "Rhodes said he's running late."

"Look at us," Tony mutters "being all suburban and sociable. Okay, honey, make sure the lamb doesn't overcook."

"This is sickening to look at." Sam says. "Two men, kissing, touching. Two fully grown men, acting like a husband and wife. Two fully grown men touching and getting all up in my space. Disgusting. You two should be ashamed."

"Funny." Tony says. "You should take it up with HYDRA. If they win, we'll be the first ones to go."

"The blacks and the homosexuals." Sam says seriously. He toasts his glass. "To America."

"'Merica." Tony toasts back, flipping down his virgin martini.

"I see you got your man back." Sam says nodding at Bucky, sitting silently in the corner with Natasha's hand on his knee.

"He doesn't do much."

"I can see that, too." Sam pauses. "Is, uh, that fine lady still free, or -- "

"I think, actually, they might be on a thing."

Sam raises his eyebrows. "Them? Really? The Winter Soldier and the Black Widow? God, he probably fucks like an ice -- "

"And moving on." Tony evades brilliantly, pouring Sam more champagne.

This is strange. This is very strange. Very nice, yes. But too normal. It's all going too well.

They sit down, and eat lamb. And roast potatoes. And some stuffing, too. There are Christmas presents. Carols. They play fucking charades. Tony doesn't drink, and everyone pretends not to notice. Pepper brings her new boyfriend, and everyone is friendly. By the end of the night, Tony is feeling mellow. It's a strange feeling.

"Two words." He says. "Movie? TV show? Yes, I see that. Well what do you fucking think I'm gonna say, you keep making a square! No start again. Oh for fuck's sake Clint."

Tony rolls his eyes and goes back to stabbing at his pie with a fork. "Fucking asshole." He mutters.

"So you heard about Ellis?" Rhodey murmurs in his ear.

Tony scoffs. "Guy's pushed himself into a corner."

"I know that. I was asking if you're ready for when it goes tits-up."

Tony looks at him. "What?"

"Tony, Ellis doesn't have those names. He doesn't know shit. HYDRA is out there, embedded all over the world, and he can only do fuck all. It can only last too long, eventually he'll break."

"And then what?"

Rhodey shrugs. "Resignation. It's about what comes with it. If America cracks, the world follows. I need you keeping an eye on the stock market."

"Stock market? What about the fucking stock market?"

Rhodes looks round, then leans close. "This is confidential."

Tony stands. "Anyone else want coffee?" He asks, shooting Rhodey a meaningful glare.

Rhodes follows. "Look," he says, in the safety of the kitchen "I shouldn't know this. The fact I even know this is illegal."

"Tell me."

"Carol," Rhodey looks round, then lowers his voice. "Carol said they've been put on standby."

Tony blinks. "What."

"Her unit. Special force. They've been put on standby."

"For what?"

Rhodey shakes his head. "Special order of the POTUS himself."

"What is Ellis up to?"

"War, apparently."

"On who?"

"HYDRA."

Tony stares. "He can't wage war on something that doesn't -- Rhodey, what are you talking about?"

"Listen to me. Ellis is stuck. People are angry, people want HYDRA down. Everyday there's some new company, some new senator, some new fucking leader that's got links or's done a deal. Ellis needs to put on a brave face. Ellis is mobilising troops."

"There's nothing to defeat."

"Well then he'll have to find something, won't he."

Tony laughs. "Rhodey, that's not going to happen, come on. He's not just gonna wage war, he can't do that."

"You wanna bet?" Rhodes says, and his face is deadly serious.

Tony stares at him. "You're not joking."

"Something's happening. I don't know what, Carol doesn't know what, but someone does. Watch out. Be careful."

Tony slumps, drags a hand over his face. "I have a friend," he murmurs "he says people are going missing."

"Missing?"

"His brothers had links to HYDRA. He hasn't seen them in months. But others, too. He says," Tony swallows "he says that people take them in the night, and the next Sunday, they're gone."

"I haven't heard -- "

"Exactly." Tony says. "No one has. And no one's talking."

"Jesus."

"Something's happening." Tony agrees. "We need to form an offensive. What are we doing here, sitting around with our thumbs up our fucking asses." 

"You gonna talk to your Captain?"

Tony sighs. "Yeah." He says. "Yeah. Just -- one fucking Christmas, you know? It would be nice to have one fucking Christmas where no one dies, or tries to take over the world, or, or has a fucking miscarriage. Just one fucking -- "

"I know." Rhodey says. "I know. But this is what we signed up for."

"You signed up for. If I had it my way, I'd be on a cruise eating fruit of off Captain America's pecs and yet here I am."

"Not a visual I wanted."

"You catch my drift, though."

Rhodey claps him on the back. "Come on." He says. "Cheer up. Enjoy yourself."

Tony rubs a line along his chin. "Right." He says. "Right. Enjoy myself. World War 3, Tony, enjoy it."

 

Tony and Steve stumble into their apartment sometime after three am.

"Did you see," Steve snorts "that fucking tool. God, what a dick."

"Be nice." Tony says, unbuttoning his shirt. "Clint did very well. You shouldn't be rude about people like him."

"Not funny." Steve purrs, swinging him round and pulling him close. "Not funny at all."

They kiss; Steve bites Tony's lip.

"You're very happy." Tony murmurs against his skin, looking up.

Steve presses kisses along Tony's jaw, down his neck. "Yes," he says, thumbing at a nipple. "I am."

Tony feels the shivers run along his shoulder as Steve leans down and gently sucks on each nub. He exhales softly, letting his hands close on Steve's head.

"Distracting." He murmurs.

Steve looks up, grinning. "It's supposed to be."

Tony snorts, breaking away. He goes to the bathroom and starts brushing his teeth. "How was Bucky?" He calls.

"He and Natasha left early."

"Are they, you know," Tony spits into the sink "on a thing? I told Sam they were on a thing."

"I think their fucking."

"Ooh," Tony says "say that again."

"Fucking."

"You know I love it when you talk dirty."

Steve snorts, and then sobers. "He'll fuck her but he won't talk to me."

"Well he is a man," Tony says, sighing, and turning off the tap. "Sometimes it's a lot easier to fuck your way through things instead of talk about your feelings."

"You would know."

"Yes."

Steve rubs his eyes. "Whatever." He sighs. "Yeah. Okay. Let's," he shakes his head "look, I'm sorry. That was really, really uncalled for."

Tony shrugs. "No problem." 

He throws his pants in the washing basket just a bit too hard.

"Tony," Steve says "hey, Tony I didn't mean that."

"You said it."

"It wasn't meant to insult you."

"Yeah but you still thought it. As in, that's a thing that you have thought before, you know. It's a thought that's crossed your mind 'oh, Tony fucks his way through things', well fine, okay."

More fools him, really, for thinking Steve thought differently.

"I'm sorry." Steve says. "I'm tired, it came out wrong."

"How was it supposed to come out?"

"Just, just that it's something you have experience with. There's nothing wrong with that."

"You think I'm fucked up." Tony says, folding away his jacket. "You don't need to say it, you've just made it abundantly clear. It's fine," Tony smiles "I'm used to it. Let's just sleep."

He had wanted to fuck Steve, tonight. He'd had it all planned out. He was ready. There was lube in the draw.

It wasn't that Tony didn't --

He knew that Steve thought like that. He just hadn't wanted to hear it.

"You're angry." Steve says, taking his hand. "That wasn't what I meant."

Tony shrugs. "It's late."

"I want to make love to you."

Tony snorts. "Make love. Just call it fucking."

"No, I want to make love to you."

Tony closes his eyes, closes the data ports in his head.

Silence.

Steve doesn't know that the President is mobilising troops. He doesn't know what's coming. Neither does Tony, but still.

"Yeah," Tony says softly "we can do that."

"We can," Steve blinks "fuck?"

"Let's fuck."

Tony twists, takes Steve's head in his hands, kisses him, hard, fast, straddling his hips.

Steve pulls back. "Wait." He says. "Wait. This isn't, you're not just doing this because you think I'm angry with you -- I mean you're doing this because you want to, right?"

"Why else would I have cleaned by fucking asshole out?" Tony says, reaching round the draw for lube. "Christ, Steve, it's not like these things are spur-of-the-moment."

"I don't want you to -- "

"Jesus, do I have to spell it out? Fuck me. I want to fuck you. For some reason, you know who I am, and what I've done, and despite the fact that, and I quote, I 'fuck my way through things' you still want to 'make love to me', which is both admirable and slightly disturbing."

Steve kisses his forehead, and then hugs him. Just hugs him, tight. "I love you."

"I love you too."

Steve nods. "Let's fuck."

 

After, they're sweaty and tired and lying on stained sheets, Tony's breath slowly evening out.

Side by side, staring up at the ceiling.

"That was." Tony swallows.

"Yeah." Steve agrees, dazed.

"10/10, really."

"Definitely."

Tony tries to blink away tiredness but feels lassitude sinking into his bones. He rolls, and pulls the blanket up over his shoulders, facing Steve. "You're good." He says.

"Wow." Steve nods. "That is... that is a real compliment."

Tony smiles, closes his eyes. "I'm gonna just, sleep, now. Okay?"

"Okay." Steve whispers. "Merry Christmas."

Tony yawns. "Merry Christmas."

A hand brushes his cheek. He exhales softly.

Steve murmurs something as Tony drifts away. He's too tired to catch it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the posting schedule may go a little funny now because, would you believe, we're nearing the end. Well, not really, but it feels that way, because we're getting close to the massive cataclysmic event that's going to lead into the next part, which will be the final part. So posting will still be regular, but probably not everyday. Sorry. Although knowing me, it could still be everyday? I don't know.
> 
> Also, to the anon, writing things based off of this is fine! just make sure you list it as 'inspired by' or whatever it is you do on ao3


	114. Chapter 114

Ellis resigns a few days before the New Year and the public take to the streets in protest. Lied to and tired, they launch a campaign of vitriol that lasts well into February; the police strike, the army refuse their orders, men and women are arrested, children blocked from school. Between it all, they're stretched thin. Tony's opening for the Dubai tower is pushed back, although it was supposed to open on New Years Eve, and Steve joins the crowd storming the White House gates.

Steve becomes the figurehead, then, pure and simple. The marker for an America that once was. The Avenger's announce their offensive, and after that, Tony resigns as head of R&D for good, splitting his time between researching and finding HYDRA hot points and then slamming them into the ground.

But.

Tony is happy.

Days spent at Steve's side, a constant presence while he stands on stage and preaches to the crowd. The hands that knead his shoulders at night. The lips that kiss his before bed. In between the fighting and the blood, there are moments of peace. Quiet dinners with their team. Rhodey, proposing to Carol. Natasha and Bucky, side by side, both so quiet, but taking silent comfort in each others arms, seeking a solidarity only they can understand.

One day in March, Bucky sings a quiet song, Natasha's head in his lap, metal fingers twisting in her hair. Steve's head slides until it rests on Tony's shoulder. Clint slowly sleeps, eyes dark behind his glasses.

Life is hard. It's quick, it's tough.

But Tony is happy.

Steve ends in the hospital one night, with shrapnel in his belly. He recovers, of course, he's out in a week. But Tony never forgets what he says, when he first opens his eyes, and sees Tony there.

"It was worth it," he croaks "for you. It was worth, it was worth the ice. And the pain. All those years lost. Even," he coughs "even the ones at the beginning, where I didn't know where I was. And I was so, so scared. I couldn't even, couldn't leave the apartment to get food, I was so scared. It was worth it. Because I got better, and I met you. And we have all of this, Tony. We have what matters."

Tony has no grand gesture of love to give, so he just holds his hand.

 

Until.

One night, he travels back to his apartment while Steve stays overnight at the hospital for some check-ups. Nothing major, but he busted his shoulder last week, and he says it's twinging, so the nurses are going to do some extra physio. Routine. Tony's in a pretty good mood. The new president seems to be a nice guy. All is well. 

There's a woman, sitting on his couch.

Wearing a mask.

Ah.

See, Tony's a nice guy. That's what it comes down to. This is the same woman who hacked his computers, stole Extremis, and saved his life. Mixed feelings on that.

"How did you get in here?" He asks casually, folding his coat over his arm. "Same way you took my code, I assume."

The woman stands. She doesn't say anything, but she takes off her mask.

And just like that.

"Whitney?" Tony blinks. "Whitney?"

"It's insulting you sound surprised."

Tony can't --

Whitney? 

"It was you?" He says slowly, but voice high "You hacked Extremis? You did, all that, you -- "

"Listen to me," Whitney says "hey, Tony? Hello? Yes it's me, but you need to listen. I -- "

"Hold on," Tony says, squeezing the bridge of his nose. "You're the woman in the mask? That means, how did you get in here oh my God, where were you hiding these skills? How did I not know? I thought, you haven't talked to me since the diagnosis, I thought -- "

Whitney grabs his lapels and shakes. "Shut up." She grits. "Would you just shut up? And listen. Tony, your tower. In Dubai. You need to bring forward the opening."

Tony blinks. "Why would I do that?"

"Just because." Whitney says, and her voice is, is she shaking. "Do it. For me."

Tony curls a hand round the back of her head. "Honey I can't just do that. I'm not in charge."

"You can if you want to." Whitney says "I know you can."

Tony steps back. "Whit, you can't -- there's a lot about you that's not adding up. I don't know who you are, who you're... working for."

"Not them." Whitney says. "That's all you need to know, not them. And you have to bring it forward. You have to." Her eyes are tear-filled, suddenly. "Please," she whispers "for me."

"I can't do it for you."

She shakes her head. "If you trust me." She whispers. "You will."

What Tony wants to say is I don't trust you. 

But.

"How did you crack through my code?"

"I know you too well, Tony." Whitney murmurs. "I can hack, and your safecodes aren't unfamiliar to someone who knows you well."

"That's supposed to be how it keeps people out."

"I know." Whitney says "You're too trusting of your friends."

"And yet you want me to trust you?"

"I saved your life."

"Whitney, you're wearing a mask. You're running around playing vigilanty, I can't -- "

"Oh how's that any different to you?" She snaps. "Fuck off." She shakes her head. "Listen. Move it forward. Now. Because -- I can't tell you why. But I need you to trust me."

"You're asking a hell of a lot for a woman I haven't seen in months."

"Tony," Whitney says, and her hand flutters by his cheek "when have I ever lied to you? When have I ever tried to steer you wrong?"

Tony swallows. "You know something."

She nods. "You need to move the opening forwards."

Ultimately, it's the beginning of the end.

Tony always placed too much trust in his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is anyone still reading this?? hellooo?? my comments have gone down from twenty to five a chapter, are you all getting bored? tbh i don't blame you. But anyway, we're nearly there i reckon, although i have zero chapters backed up and waiting. I'm just gonna go ahead and get to the climax because a story can only be so long


	115. Chapter 115

Tony is biting his thumb. Steve wonders if he realises he's doing it. It's kinda cute, actually. He's biting his thumb, hair mussed, phone between his ear and shoulder.

"Yeah," he says "yeah I know that, Pep. You think I don't? I know what the press will say, I'm used to it. No, I don't need flip flops! That's not -- yes, haha. Fine."

Steve raises his eyebrows and Tony waves him away. "Yeah," he says down the line "yes, yes, yes, I'll do all those things. Can you wrangle it? Are you sure? God, Pep, you're a star. Yes, I know. Fine. I love you too -- no of course not in that way. Yes, he's being good to me, who are you, my mom? No I know she didn't. Right I'm going. I'm hanging up. You can keep talking, but I'm hanging up."

The phone beeps and he chucks it onto the couch cushion next to him, sighs. "Am I being good to you?" Steve asks, slumping beside him.

"Very." Tony chuckles, and he presses a kiss to his lips. He exhales, and then curls against him, head resting on his chest.

"I'm moving forward the Dubai opening." He says, finally.

"What?! Why?"

Tony fidgets. "Reasons, Steve. I just -- I need to open it, and it's been delayed long enough."

Steve's eyes narrow. "That's not a good reason, Tony. Not at all. Not with HYDRA being so active. Not with -- "

"So I'll double security." Tony says. "We'll be expecting it."

Steve looks down at him. "Are you okay?"

"What?"

"It's just, that's a pretty rash decision, you know? Is, uh," Steve clears his throat "Extremis. You said it was balancing out all the, uh, the bad thoughts. That's still happening, right?"

"I'm not having a manic episode."

"Just clearing that up."

Tony stares at him for a while then snuggles back down. "It's nice you care." He murmurs.

Steve's fingers take up a gentle toying with Tony's hair. "Have Rhodey and Carol set a date?"

Tony sighs. "July."

"A summer wedding."

"It's gonna be at my place in the Hamptons, overlooking the sea. Very secluded. Very nice."

"You're best man."

Tony exhales. "Obviously."

Steve hums, scratching the back of Tony's neck. "Everyone's getting together recently." He says. "You and me, I guess. Clint and Jan, kinda. Carol and Jim, definitely. Buck and Nat... I don't know what Buck and Nat are doing."

"I think it's a casual thing."

Steve frowns. "You know, we had the strangest conversation yesterday."

"Who, you and Nat?"

"No, me and Buck."

"Oh?"

"We were looking over that map you gave me, and I said something like 'just like old times' or 'back in the day' and Bucky," Steve rubs his eyes "I don't know, Tony, he kinda smiled. And said 'back in the day, I would have been the one looking at the map' and it was just -- God," Steve says "it was so normal. For a second I just laughed, because, you know, that's true. But I couldn't -- "

"I understand."

"And then by the time I realised what had happened, the moment had gone. And when I tried to get it back, he just went... sullen."

"He and Natasha are good for each other."

"You think?"

"She told me once, when I was ill, that the reason she doesn't date is because she can't find someone to keep up. Not in the same way Pepper couldn't, just -- I mean, you know what she used to do."

"Right."

"Bucky gets that. Natasha was wiped and she came out the other end. She says, I don't know. She says that she's not sure if she ever got her original personality back. But she knows she's okay now. And maybe that's... Steve, maybe that's Bucky, too. Natasha understands. God knows, their both young. It's good, you know? For both of them. And I've said it once, and I'll say it again, just give him time. He'll come round."

"I know you're right." Steve says, and he presses a kiss to Tony's forehead. "I -- never mind. It doesn't matter."

Tony huffs contentedly, assured in the knowledge that he won the argument. Steve likes the little look he gets on his face, the satisfaction. Like being well-fed.

It makes him smile. "What?" Tony grouches, blinking up at him from where his head rests in Steve's lap.

"Nothing." Steve says, wiping the smile from his face.

"I didn't say stop." Tony grumbles lightly.

Steve grins down at him, slides down the couch and rests his head on the back. "So Clint and Jan, apparently, are also a thing."

"Mmm," Tony hums "she's such a nice lady."

"You would know."

"We were teenagers."

"No judgement. Clint -- Clint seems mad for her."

Tony actually smiles. "It's kinda cute?"

"It's very cute." Steve says seriously.

Tony giggles. "He's such a fucking flower child, really. He's smitten."

"That's a good word for it."

"I just hope -- " Tony breaks off.

"You just hope what."

He shrugs. "I don't know. That it lasts. That she doesn't wander off and break his heart."

"You think she would do that?"

"They're very different people. Jan is WASP, 100%. Clint? Clint is more... not."

"Hmm." Steve says frowning. "That's true. But you're a rich white boy, and I'm a New York slums kid. We shouldn't work."

"This is true." Tony admits. "This is very true." He pauses, then grins. "I love it when you go all Brooklyn on me."

"I love it when you go all upper class psuedo-egalitatiran on me."

Tony chuckles. "Big words." He murmurs against Steve's lips, and then they kiss.

 

They take the weekend for themselves, fuck anyone else.

Steve makes Tony breakfast in bed, and Tony objects, because Steve's the one who's been doing that hard work. And Steve points out that Tony's cooking is so bad that he'd rather make it anyway. And unless they wanted spaghetti for breakfast -- which was the only thing Tony was capable of cooking to a decent standard -- Steve would do the rest, thank you very much.

So they end up baking, which is interesting, because it turns out Tony's actually quite good. Messy, but good. He claims it's like chemistry, and then promptly spills flour everywhere, which explains why for the most part Tony sticks to physics because substitute flour for caustic chemicals and you're not looking at a party.

So they bake their cake and Steve does the icing. He does a half shield, half arc reactor thing in the middle, because he's feeling sappy, and then it looks too good to eat so they make another.

It's fun. They take Dog out for a walk down in the Park, watch the ducks. No one bothers them, and Dog sits in Tony's lap, too big but there anyway.

Steve frowns. "I think he should have stopped growing by now."

"It's been about a year?" Tony says, scratching behind his ears and ignoring the strange looks. "Maybe he has a little longer left to go."

Steve blinks. "Tony, are you blind?"

"What?"

"The dog is big."

"So? Maybe he's just podgy."

"No," Steve says, leaning back to take him in "Tony he's like a fucking wolf. You've got a wolf disguised as man's best friend."

"Why do you all have to be so judgemental? I like him this size. There's more of him to cuddle."

Steve snorts. "Well I'm just saying. Maybe you should take him to the vet, see what's going on."

"He's just big." Tony says, tersely "The same way I'm just small. It happens. Moving on."

Steve lets it drop. Saying something negative about Dog is tantamount to genocide in Tony's books.

 

Later, they lie in bed, naked, satisfied.

Steve curls himself against Tony, traces the place where the scars would have sat. "When are we going to tell them?" He murmurs.

"Tell who what?" Tony asks lazily, fiddling with a lock of Steve's hair.

"Them," he answers, waving a hand. "The public, the press. About us."

Tony freezes. "What?"

Steve looks up. "Telling the media." He says. "Telling people we're together."

Tony blinks. "We," he swallows "we don't have to tell them."

Steve frowns. "It feels like they should know."

"Why should they know? So they can take it from us?"

"Take it from us?" Steve says, frowning. "Look, okay, I see why you would think that. But they can't actually do that, Tony. At the end of the day, we control our relationship."

"Our relationship." Tony says, slowly. "Steve -- Steve, do you know what it's like to be an openly gay man?"

"Better than when I was a boy."

"Still not great. Let me rephrase: do you know what it's like to be an openly gay CEO?"

"You're not gay, you're bisexual, and you're not a CEO."

"Doesn't matter." Tony says automatically. "That's how the media views me. I'm, I'm this hard figure, you know? This, people don't -- they can't know."

Steve sits up. "They can't know." He repeats. "About us."

"We can just keep it between us." Tony says, slightly desperate. "Come on, Steve. Don't ruin it."

"Don't ruin it?" Steve says, incredulously "Don't ruin it? Tony, I love what we have, and I don't want to hide it. People will get over it eventually. I'm Captain Amshutdown, you don't think I have something to lose, too?"

"I can't believe you'd be so naive about this." Tony spits, sitting up so Steve slides from his chest "I can't believe you could honestly think like that, like it's all fairies and rose petals. Steve, do you know, do you know the shit, the, the sh-shit I went through with them, with, with all of them, the fucking media, and you want to -- "

"You don't need to get worked up." Steve says, brusquely. "I hear you."

"Worked up?" Tony says faintly. "I'm n-not, shut up."

"What is it? Honestly? Are you ashamed?"

"Of us? No! Of course not! I'm -- I'm not proud, I'm -- "

"Not proud?" 

"No! That wasn't what I meant. I mean, I'm not, you know, open, gay and proud, out or whatever you call it, but I'm proud that, that I have you, that we're together."

"So what, I'm your trophy boy?"

"Stop taking words from my mouth!" Tony says, standing. "Don't twist them like that! That makes you no fucking better than them, Steve, no fucking better."

"So what is it, then." Steve says "Hmm? You're not ashamed, but you don't want anyone to know because you're afraid. You're afraid of what they'll do to you. Makes you a coward, I reckon. If you're scared to stand up for what you believe in. Makes you a coward."

The words hang there, in the space between them, and Steve wants to take them back. That was always his problem, his flaw, his temper. When he gets angry, he says things that he doesn't mean. It's an accident. Of course Tony's not a coward, he has every right to fear going public and he's right, too, because Steve's being stupid, they can't just announce to the world they're gay lovers because that's not how the world works.

Tony swallows. "Why did I think," he says, voice low "that you would be any different. Why -- why did I think that. Why would I -- " he shakes his head, looks away. "Clothes." He mutters. "I need clothes."

"Tony -- "

"It's fine." He says, turning. 

"No, it's not. That's not what I meant."

"That's what you said last time, too. But it's what you were thinking, you know? You think that. You think, you think I'm a c - " Tony swallows "coward. And then you say 'I didn't mean it' but you do." He pulls on pants, a sweater. "It's not, things aren't always black and white, Steve. Wake up. Join the real world."

"I am," Steve says "I know. I was just angry, okay? I don't like the idea, my first thought was that you didn't really want me. That you were just with me -- you don't want to go public because we're not worth it. But I'm wrong. That was stupid."

"You think I would think that?" Tony mutters "You think I could ever think that? Steve I just want -- all I want is for someone to love me. It's not, it's not hard. I just -- " He turns. "Well it's all come out tonight, hasn't it? That's what you really think."

"That's not what I think."

Tony closes his eyes. "I'm going to go." He says. "I think, I need a night."

"Tony -- "

"Please, Steve." Tony mutters. "Let me sort this out in my head. Step by step."

"You don't need to." Steve says "It's not important, it was a slip of my fucking tongue, understand? You don't need to leave, please. You don't need to always do this -- just talk to me."

Steve can't empathise, exactly. He thinks he knows what's going on in Tony's head, but he can't be sure.

"It's fine." Tony says "I'll just, I'll go to the mansion for a few days and clear my head. It's fine. It's all good."

"You can't just leave." Steve blurts as he heads out the door. "You hear that, Tony? You can't just, you can't just walk away from everything. That's not how this works."

Tony pauses with a frown on his face. He turns back, and stares. "I don't walk away."

Steve blinks at him. "Then what's this."

"I'm -- "

"Running. You're running away because that's what you do and -- you know what? Maybe I was right. You are a coward, Tony. Because you want me to love you and you want to be loved and I tell you that over and over again -- but I'm starting to think that you're the problem, you know that? You know why? You don't let people close. As soon as they do you look for all these reasons why they shouldn't be near you, why you're bad, you put words in their mouths. You're better than that, fuck you. You're better than that. I love you. I fucking love you. And I don't care how many times I have to say it but eventually I'm gonna start wondering if it's even going in. If it's even fucking worth it. You're the problem, Tony."

The words are true, Steve knows, because he sees it in Tony's face. 

But Tony leaves anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know the music from jaws? like the *duh nuh, duh nuh duh nuh*? yeah well imagine that playing right now
> 
> also guys your comments on the last chapter were fab pls never stop. Fanfic writers are needy people who live for comments


	116. Chapter 116

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for dubious consent in the form of Tiberius Stone touching places he shouldn't

The mansion is cold, because it's been uninhabited since last year, but Tony goes there anyway.

He's weak. He's fucking weak, that's what made him come here. You know why? Because he threw all the alcohol in the tower out, poured it all down the drain in a grand gesture of sobriety. Now, he cracks open his father's cabinet and unstoppers an old wine. It must be expensive. Tony doesn't care.

He tips it to his lips, and it's so fucking hard not to just down it all, and he sits there, on the cusp of breaking his longest dry streak since he was eleven.

He lets it roll to the floor. Fuck it. He's better than that, anyway.

Instead, he climbs onto the living room couch, tugs a blanket over his shoulders, and curls down. The couch smells musty and the blanket feels damp, but at least he's not in the tower.

He wishes Dog was with him, though. He's nice and warm.

Opposite him is the fireplace, and on top of that, a portrait. All three of them, mom and dad and him. He's wearing a little suit, his mother's wearing a yellow dress. That day, when was that day? It hangs somewhere at the back of his memory. He thinks he was sent away not long after.

He remembers his dad, and how scared he was. How desperate to please. Looking up at him when he was a kid... that had been terrifying. His dad might well have been the scariest man alive. He was seventeen the first time he realised that he was stronger than him, taller than him, more fit, more able. It wasn't till he died that Tony was ever really free of the fear.

And even now. He grumbles, rolls over so his face is pressed into the back of the couch, pulls the blanket over his head. He doesn't want to think about his parents, or Steve. He wants to sleep.

It's fucking cold, though.

Admitting defeat, he slouches his way down to the kitchen. It's even colder here, with a draft coming in through --

The open doors.

Tony stares. Gently shuts them.

Suddenly intensely uncomfortable.

He fiddles with the heating until he hears it hum into life, and the quickly makes his way back to the living room. It's an old house, those are old doors. It's windy tonight, and it's not surprising that they were opened.

He settles back down and closes his eyes. He hates this house. He hates the ghosts. Fuck, he hates Steve. No that's not true. He hates that what Steve said was right. Tony's the problem, isn't he? Tony's always been the problem.

Ever since he was a kid. As soon as people get close, he doesn't -- he doesn't push them away. He just expects them to leave. For he prepares for it. And nine times out of ten, he tries to run before they do.

Spare himself the hurt.

Tony groans and rolls tighter as if to block out the memories. He screwed up. He'll go back, tomorrow morning. In the cold light of -- in the cold air of his old house, it was stupid. Heat of the moment and all. It's fine. He'll apologise for being an ass in the morning. Steve wasn't right about coming out -- it's not the right time -- but he meant well. Tony knows that.

He slips into sleep. Strange dreams, where he's chased down the corridors of this house, only to fall into a hole in space and come out the other end gasping for air as his head is pushed into a barrel. Strange, strange dreams.

He's awoken by someone shaking his shoulder. "Tony," they say, voice low "Tony."

Tony frowns and pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders. Go away, Steve, he's sleeping. He's sleepy, sleeping, tired. Shh.

"Tony, you should wake up. I want you to be awake for this."

That stirs him. What an ominous sentence. Not nice at all. He rolls, wipes drool from the side of his mouth. "Who'zzit?" He mumbles, bleary, hand flapping against someone's jacket.

Two milky blue eyes stare down at him, crazed in the darkness.

"Ty," Tony gasps, and he jerks back, scoots down on the couch "what the fuck, man, what are you -- this is breaking and entering, you know that? You're breaking in. How long have you been here?"

"I never left." Ty says, taking out his cigarette. "Been here all along, Tony boy, waiting for you to come crawling back."

Tony blinks. "You're aware that this is my house, right? And I'm not here for you."

"What does it matter? You're here now." Ty leans forward and kisses him, deeply, and when Tony pushes back his teeth tighten in his lip. Tony pushes his chest, tries to squirm free, and Ty chuckles.

Tony swipes his hand over his mouth, taste the iron in his mouth. "You fucking creep." He says, standing. "Who do you think you are?"

Ty laughs again, and Tony's never seen him so unhinged. He recognises it, obviously, he's seen it in so many men; it's the look of someone who has nothing in their way, everything to gain, and nothing left to lose.

"Ty," Tony says carefully, gold undersheath gently sliding over his skin "Ty, tell me what's wrong."

"That's cute, Tony."

"Excuse me?"

"Your little gold trick, it's cute." Ty grins, and he brings out his phone. "It's looks great. I just love the way it hugs every little bit of you, you know?" He giggles. "I'd love to see you with your clothes. Imagine sucking me off like that, Tony, imagine -- "

"Enough." Tony says, and the rest of his armour comes sliding out, coating itself round his skin, his repulser whining, ready to fire.

"No," Ty says "no, I don't think so."

Tony blinks, and Ty presses something on his phone, and then his head -- 

**struct group_info init_groups = { .usage = ATOMIC_INIT(2) };**

**struct group_info *groups_alloc(int gidsetsize){**

**struct group_info *group_info;**

**int nblocks;**

**int i;**

**nblocks = (gidsetsize + NGROUPS_PER_BLOCK - 1) / NGROUPS_PER_BLOCK;**

**group_info = kmalloc(sizeof(*group_info) + nblocks*sizeof(gid_t *), GFP_USER);**

**if (!group_info)**

**return NULL;**

**group_info- >ngroups = gidsetsize; **

**group_info- >nblocks = nblocks; **

**atomic_set( &group_info->usage, 1); **

**if (gidsetsize <= NGROUPS_SMALL) **

**group_info- >blocks[0] = group_info->small_block; **

**else {**

**for (i = 0; i < nblocks; i++) { **

**gid_t *b;**

**b = (void *)__get_free_page(GFP_USER);**

[ **SYSTEM COMPROMISED]**

**[SYSTEM COMPROMISED]**

**ATTEMPTING TO ABORT VIRUS**

"No," Tony gasps, and he curls on the floor, groans "oh, _god,"_ he draws out "oh Jesus, oh God -- "

**for (i = 0; i < nblocks; i++) { **

**gid_t *b;**

**b = (void *)__get_free_page(GFP_USER);**

**if (!b)**

**goto out_undo_partial_alloc;**

**group_info- >blocks[i] = b; **

**}**

**}**

**return group_info;**

**out_undo_partial_alloc:**

**while (--i >= 0) { **

**free_page((unsigned long)group_info- >blocks[i]); **

**}**

**kfree(group_info);**

**return NULL;**

**EXPORT_SYSTEM**

**SHUTDOWN IMMINENT**

"Ty," Tony moans "Ty help me. Ty, Ty please. Call Steve, call -- CALL SOMEONE!" 

Ty crouches down over Tony's body, prone and twitching, and he looks at him with a vague curiosity. Tony feels the gold leaking from his bones, pooling on the floor, wet and dripping, red and hot against his skin. He drips off him, rolls like droplets of rain, and he reaches up, tries to grab at Ty's face, tries to get something, someone, fever burning through him too fast and too soon.

**[ATTEMPTING TO REPAIR SYSTEM]**

**[REBOOT IN FIVE, FOUR, THREE, TWO, ONE]**

Tony's back arches off the ground with the force of his screams, his bare skin slipping against the slickness on the floor underneath him.

**[REBOOT FAILED; UNKNOWN RESISTOR]**

**SHUTDOWN IMMINENT**

"Any moment now," Ty hums "and those nanites are gonna fizzle out. You know what that means?"

Tony screams, and can't hear him, but reaches up, hands grasping. "Please." He says. "Ty stop."

**SHUTDOWN OF EXTREMIS PROGRAM**

**ONE MINUTE UNTIL TERMINATION**

Tony feels it, shifting down his spine. It's not painful, not like his head, but one moment his legs are there and the next they've gone.

They stop twitching.

"Aww, Tony." Ty says, running a hand through his sweaty hair "We're nearly there."

"D'nt touch me," Tony slurs, head tossing back and forth "d'nt t-touch, touch me."

"Did you feel that? That was your legs. What's it like, not having Extremis sending all those little messages down your nerve endings, hmm?"

Tony doesn't know, really. He just knows that he can no longer walk, and his head in on fire. It feels like a fever. A godawful fever.

**THIRTY SECONDS UNTIL SHUTDOWN**

"Ty please don't do this to me." Tony whimpers. "Come on, Ty, come on."

**TWENTY SECONDS UNTIL SHUTDOWN**

"You just hold on, Tony." Ty hums "It'll all be fine once you're done."

**TEN SECONDS UNTIL SHUTDOWN**

"Jarvis?" Tony gasps "Jarvis, are you there, buddy? Are you there?"

**FIVE SECONDS UNTIL SHUTDOWN**

"Steve, please." Tony says "Steve, oh Steve please -- "

**ONE SECOND UNTIL SHUTDOWN**

**SHUTDOWN IMMI**

**struct group_info init_groups = { .usage = ATOMIC_INIT(2) };**

**struct group_info *groups_alloc(int gidsetsize){**

**struct group_info *group_info;**

**int nblocks;**

**int i;**

**nblocks = (gidsetsize + NGROUPS_PER_BLOCK - 1) / NGROUPS_PER_BLOCK;**

**/* Make sure we always allocate at least one indirect block pointer */**

**nblocks = nblocks ? : 1;**

**group_info = kmalloc(sizeof(*group_info) + nblocks*sizeof(gid_t *), GFP_USER);**

**if (!group_info)**

**return NULL;**

**group_info- >ngroups = gidsetsize; **

**group_info- >nblocks = nblocks; **

**atomic_set( &group_info->usage, 1); **

**if (gidsetsize <= NGROUPS_SMALL) **

**group_info- >blocks[0] = group_info->small_block; **

**else {**

**for (i = 0; i < nblocks; i++) { **

**gid_t *b;**

**b = (void *)__get_free_page(GFP_USER);**

  


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̸̬̲̬͂̄̃̆̑ͣͧ͡ɔ̸̢̨̱͖̤͇͉͈̱̬̜̥̳̖͖̅̽̏̈́͐̈́͛̌̽̈́̃ͣ̄̐ͯͫ͆ͯᴉ̪͔̮̣̰͎͙̭̃̾͂ͩͨ͆ͬ̋̐ͫ̈̓͛͞͠ɹ̧̛̼͉͇̜̬̯͔̝̺̣̳̙̮͕͔̲̰̦ͪ̇̔̑ͯ͐̽ͫ̋ͦ̌͐ͣ͊͜Ǝ̶͓̼̤̯̗͉̘̘̦̹̲͂̅̈́̈́̓̆̂͂̃͛̿̃̿ͦͮͤ͜ɐ̵̸̡͓̦̦̹͈̝͕͔͒̏̽̅͑ͦ̀͂̊͊͑̐̐͑̔͌̓̓̌͘ͅɔ̷̔̆ͫ͋̌̆ͦͪ͝҉̣͕͇̜̯͇͎ᴉ̒ͧͩͩͤͩͩ͏̕҉͇̲͖̼͖̤̳̦̗̬̠̜̮̘̠̘̱͚͜ɹ̡̢͈͇̖̞̣̩͔̟͔̼̫̰͇ͩ̓ͦ̎̉ͤͫ̀͜ͅƎ̳̬̩͉̩̋ͩ̿̐ͨͯ̀̑̿̔͘͘͡͝͞ͅɐ̢̞̤̹̪̟̪̖̻̠̫̦̠̈͑͐̅͋ͤ͗̅͆̍ͦ̍͐̒͐ͤɔ̎̇ͨͬ̄͑̾͑̑ͥ̄ͩͦͦ̎҉̧̬͙̙̪̱̗̰̦̻͙̳̱̪̺̕͘ᴉ͙̮̖̣̫͖̫̳̬̗̗͔̰̙͙͖͊͆̽̋͛̀͒̆͑̈́͝ɹ̷͕̦̭͍̞̺̰̳͚̺̠̤̻̞͇͙ͮ̀ͬ̉̑͐͛ͩ̉͆ͦ̇̑̈́͟Ǝ̓ͮ̔ͫ͐̿̐̈̌́́̈́͗͏̸͍̰̹̹͙͈̗̳͖̱̥͖̼́́͜ͅͅͅɐ̷̧̘̼̲̟̻̗͕̹̾̆ͦ͑̉̿ͫ̿̀͂ͬ̉̒̐ɔ̧̼̫̟̣̫̟͖̜͑̌ͦͧ̋̄̃ͧ̔̏ͧ͞ͅᴉ̵͓̪̲̬̦̟̮̟̗͓̩̬̭̰̫̣̅ͤ̂͗̋̿͑̍́̃͋̐͜ͅɹ̴͔̺̺̣̹͋̇͊͂̾͆͊̓ͧ̀͜Ǝ̴̢̪̲̠̰̠̺̖͗̂͑͌̋ͪ͋̒ͮ̐͊̀͞͠ɐ̶̷̧̛͙͍̲̭̭͎͓̱̘̭̥̹͍̱̫̮̪̋ͣ͛ͥ̑̂̿ͥ̌͗̎͠ɔ̷̮̪̦ͩ̉ͣ̂͑̏ͪ͑̆̇̚̚͜͠ᴉ̸̵̧̧͈̹͎̖̤̗͎͖̫̪̬̰̩̓ͪ̅̔̇̄̎̏̊ͥ̉̓͞ɹ̶̸̻̖̭̠̤̻̜̭̖͔̦̰̟̭͇͚̰͔̑͗̐͗͌ͣͤͫ̕Ǝ̸̶̵̱͉̜̪̺̍̽̾̈́̃́ͮ͆̈͝͝ɐ̸̬̥̝̼̜̦͍̠̼͍͓͔͉̘̗̳̬̑̂̋͌̓̉ͫ̌̄͒͑̆̅́͞ɔ̧̉̌̀͊̿̎̊ͮ͑̂́ͩ͂̆͛̚͡͏̵̣̹͍̯ᴉ̇͂ͫͮͬ̿͊͐̉͋͏͉̖͎̙͖͍͕̯̥͞ɹ̶̨̦̪̱͔͚̣̩̳̻̥̞̮̬̺ͬ͊̎̒͒̅̒̏͆ͩ́ͪ̈̌ͦ͒̚͟ͅƎͬ̋ͣ̕͏̯̳̣̼̥̮̣̟̘̜̫͚̯̩̼͕ɐ̡̜̳̦͍̮̹̎̔͐ͮ̔̈̃ͣ̆ͩ̀͢͠ɔ̈̓̾̍̏ͧ̈̈̈́̑̒͒ͥ̔͏̸̱͉̳̲͕̩̳ͅᴉ̞̮̳̱̬̺͓͖̹ͤ̅̉̽͒̽ͯͫͫͧ̊ͤ͗ͨ̿̈͝ɹ̷̶̸̺̙̥̗̬̰̹̱̙͕̓ͬ̎ͫ̔̆̆̃͆ͥ̏ͣͩ͟ͅƎ̴̙̣͇̺̗̤̫͋ͫͥ͛ͬͫ̽͘ɐͯͧ̆̏̂̌̈́͊̆͌ͩ̒̔́͢҉͖̹̙̼̯̱̘̩͉̭̺͉͘͘ͅɔ̶̢̜͖̩͚͍͙̳̤̞̩̞̱̤̣͙̈́̓̽͆ͫͫ̃ͩ̚ᴉ̵̝͔̥̖̣̩̽͐̔͂̍͗́͐͗̑ͣ̏̔ͪ͒̿ͥ̑͝͠ɹ͐̒̉̊ͨ͌̓͐̀ͯ̓̽҉̷̡͍̹̯̟͇̭̜͙͞͠Ǝ̨̨̮̟̺̭̒̓̎̇ͦ̎̈͋̄ͨ̇ͯɐ̶̶͕͚̯̲͙͈͒̍͑͗ͯͦ̐ͪͮ̌ͦ̄̇͟ͅɔ̴̵̡̪̝̺̝͙̳̞̲̹̠̞͉̯͖̫͕̜̏̃̑̿͘͜ͅᴉ̡͓̩͙̯̗̲͇͔͈̮͒́̔̌͆̽̾̌̆̏̔̌͟ɹ̶̙̱͎̣̦̻̱̗̝͔͚̲̳̬̠͕̪̪̅̏̑̍͐ͮ͋̊̄̒̇̀͢͠Ǝ̸̛̛̜̪̘̉̂ͭͪ̌̉̓̕ͅɐ̸̴̡̢̘̪͔͉͉̋̈̈́̈ͯ̌̎̒̆̓̅͑ͤ́̅ͣ́̽̚ɔ̷̥̹̠̝̹̥͕͋̀̾ͩ̈͘ᴉ̷̷̗̣͈̠̰͖̖̺̯͚̫͕̎̆͋̒̀̌̃ͦͭ̍̓͋̌ͯ̄̊̎ͮ́̀͘ɹ̌͒͊̽ͭ͊͌̽̆̂̌̇̈́ͩ҉̢̭̥̜̯͈̱̯̙̬̺̱ͅƎ̴̢͈̜̣̟̗̺̫́͊̋ͯ̋̒ͬ̋͒̊̈́̑ͦͧͥ̊ͥ͘ɐ̛̛̞̺͎̭͐͂ͪͩ̏ͩ̐ͯ̒́͢͟ɔ̵̭̪͍͚̳͍͖̙̩̼̪̞̟̓͌ͮ̊ͩ̔̄̅̅͐̔̀͟͟͞ᴉ̰͇̼̱̹̼̻͖̳̹͕̬͎̗̰̤̟̰͚ͥ̃ͫ͗́̆͛ͭ̀̚̕ɹ̃ͦ̅͂ͭͯͪͬ̐͒ͪ̓́̚҉҉̝̺̝͙͙̮̠̩͇͙͈̩̻͕͉Ǝ̨̻̭̱̱̹̣̤̮̠̞̘̯̟͍̣̜͚͕͛̽̆ͭ͗̔̆̿̿̑̓ͮ̽̽̅̃̚͟͞ɐ̶̨̳̦̳͆̽ͭ͑̅̂̉͜͡ɔ̷̡̘̼̹̭͙͖̝̖̙̤͇̬̱ͧ̃̋̐ͬͭͮͮ͗̕͟͝ͅᴉ̧̻͓̳̙̠̰̬̟ͪ͆ͨ̌̐̀͟͝ɹ̧̛͔̦̣̻̤̩͆̀̿̋͆͋̑͒ͦͥ̇ͫ̅̓ͣ͡Ǝ̷̭̳̹͑ͣ̽ͦͧ̍̍̃́̕ɐ̶̷̜̯̞͖̱̙̫̮̙̃ͮ̏͊ɔ̢̒ͭ̃̆͛̍̆̽̚͜͜҉̭̰̫̯̰͖͉̙̲̠̥̘͕̹̣̲ͅᴉ̸̲̱̬̞̲̻̱̘͓̰͍̺̦̟͊̉̔͐ͧ͒ͪ̑͆ͬ̓̒̽͌͗ͩͦ͜ɹ̵̸͖̦͕̬̲̻̻̺̪̟̆͊͂ͤͬ̆͜͟Ǝ̵̵̳̩͕͕̲̓̓͋̌̀̓ͪ̽̏̓̍͑̾̾͂ɐ̴̋̆̿ͭ͏̺̤̱̭̲̮̩̲͕͙̯̯ɔ̴̸̛͎̖͈̙̺͕̰̪̱̫̖͕̪͎̝̙ͥ̔͊̌̀ͦͫ̋̂ͨͪ̀͢ᴉ̸̸̴̨̤̹̱̣̮̦̣̙̜̣̘̓͛̓ͥͬ̏̐ͨɹ̶̵̘̤̼͈͉͎̼̘̘͔̗͓͓̟̬̯̖͓̅̈͂̓̀͌ͣͤ̽̑ͫ͐̆ͪ̎́̈́̚͞Ǝ͉̯̳͍̰̖̙̼͚̭͍͔͌ͣ̆͐̔ͣ̆͑̀͆̂̎ͦ̕̕ɐ̵̛̗̥͉̯͔̘̥̘̩̗̙͖͙̓ͯͧͪ̈̋ͪ͆̀̈́̌ͦ̃ͥͤ̈́͒̚̕͝ͅͅɔ̡̛̙͈̘̮̙̩̫͈͇͈̳̜ͣͣ́͛ͭ̒͂ͧ̌̀ͨ͑ͭ̎ͭ́͑̚ᴉ̛̋̒ͦ̾ͫ̽͒͑͒̒̔͗ͦͨ̅͗͞͏̦̭̦̜͕͈̦̣͓̞͎̤͚͔̘͝ͅɹ̴͑̃̅ͦ̃͑͌ͧ̈̏ͦ̇̈̚҉̧̩͈̖̠̩͎̜͚̜̣͎̺̣̞́͞Ǝ̴̵̨͈͖͎̹̻̱̤͉̻̞̏͐ͫ͛̈́̅́̚ɐ̸̽̍ͯ͊̽̿͞͏̣̦͎͈̥͍̼̳̳̖̝̲̝̩͔̙̦ͅɔ̣̹̬̻͎̝͉̲̺̫̤͎̲͍̱͇ͯ͆͌̿ͣ͌̏ͬ͒̚͜͜͞ᴉ̡͕̞̫͇̋̾ͭ͆͑ͤͥ͗̉̀͠ɹ̵͙̹̭̟̖̞̗̪͚̩̫̉̊́͂̍̐͆̒ͧ̌ͣ̌̈́̄ͪ̈́͌̓̀ͅƎ͛͌͌̓ͤ̐ͫ̏̌҉̨̟͔͖̮̱̳̬̗ɐ̢̠̦̗̭̥̥̻̲̘̙̺̼̰̻̺̭͙ͣͭ͑ͯ͗ͅɔ̏̓̅̂ͫͭ͋̿҉̶͙͎͎̥̼͖̙̠́͠͞ͅᴉ̏͋̀͆̏͂ͥ̓ͥ̈̾̊͌͗̃͛ͨ́̀҉̮͈̗̖͖͉̩̭̗̺͇͎̯͕͎̕͟ɹ̮̣̟̲̮̳͇̱ͨ̄ͥ̉ͩͭ̇̅ͭ͋̃̐̊͊̓́Ǝ̄̐̍ͨ̂͌ͤͫ͏̸̴̳̥͚͖̪́ɐ̸̨̛͖̜̠̤̲̞͉̈̾̉͋̇ͪ̏͋̍̏ɔ̘͓̭̞̲̼̬̦̦͖͈͙̭̰̦̜̹͒ͦ̅̓́̋̑ͤͪ͌͋̌̌̾ͫ͑̀̚̚̕͘͟͝ͅᴉ̧̝̼̩̟͖̘̖̖̘̟̫͕̪̥̳ͧ̾͊͆̽͊ͫ̄̎ͩ͡ͅɹ̸̤̞͖̻̮̻͚̭̗͔̙͉͈͉̻̲̎̌ͥͬ͒̿̑̃ͨ̂̑͗̚͢Ǝ̧̇̔͋͗̑ͭ̇ͤͫ̓̽ͧ͛̐҉̻͉̻̜̟͙͈̬ͅɐ̠̤̱͈̮̫̠͕͎̺̺ͪ̾̏̑̇ͪ͊̃͂ͥ̍̿̋͑̓͟͡ɔ̸̃ͯ́ͫ͘͝҉̯͖̫̗̻͈̼̱̫̱̯̝̜̤̀ᴉ̶̡̧̢̻͇͖͙̣̙͍͍̹̺̻́͌̓ͨ̈́̆̔͒ͮ́ͮ̕ɹ̍̾ͣͣ͆̅͗́̿͌͗ͫ̑͐̆̀̔ͯ͏̷҉̶̹̬̟̳͙̤̥̹͔̤̝͙͈̦͕̲̲̹͖Ǝͯ̇͌ͧͧ͋̔̃̃ͫ̌̂̇̈ͧ́́̀͏̴̡̡͓̠̬̖̼̣͍̮̗̠̬͍̳͍̗̺́ɐ͖̱̏̒͑̊ͧͥͦ̉͒͢͠ͅͅɔ̸̡̘̣̫̠̜̱̗̯ͪͦͣͧ̃̌̎̊̃̚͟ᴉ̵͇̰̮̖̈́͐̿̀̊͘͞ɹ̭̩͕̣̰͖̳̳̻̻̈́ͨ̓ͨͮ̒ͮ̉ͣ̈́̐ͩ̎̿̃͐̍̌͘Ǝ̶̴̻͓̯̬̇̿̓͗͒̅͋͊ɐ̴͊ͤ͋̑́ͣͩ̌ͦ̐̀̏̚҉͝͏̱̯̦͔̠̝̘͇̤̞͢ɔ̸̲̖͓̰̣̞̪̜̺͔̖̝͔̂͑ͭ͑ͤͮ̄̕͢ᴉ̷̨̲͙̜̟̩̠͖͖̩̣̯̭̠̱̜͓̱͕͉̿͆̽̒̌́ͤͬ́̇͒̍ͨ͗̎͆̚͢ɹ̶̉ͮ̽̈ͧͦ́҉̼̠̯͙̻̯̘̝̟͓̖̝̞͖̼̣̩̘Ǝ̴̢̠͔̮̪̱̎̈̓͊ͧ́̔ͣ͆ͩͣͪ͗͊͢͞ɐ͋͂͛̋͆҉҉̵̤̭͔̖̭̹ͅɔ͉̦͎̟̟͎̲̣͙͒̌̅́̉͐ͨͦ̔͒͑̾͜͜͢ᴉ̵̢̡̱͈͙̲̂̈̀̒ͥ̅̌̇͊ͮ͂̉ͨ̽̌̐͡ͅɹ̃̇̍̄͋ͧͯͨ̀́̀̚͟҉̵̶̭̗̯̫̮̫͉̰̜͕̫̗̺ͅƎ̛̙̟͖̱̩̄̐͆̍͟ɐ̸͖̩̻̱̹͉̰̻̲̺̯̖̪̠̣ͣ̏̏̊͂̔̈͗͌ͮ̓ͣ͗͂ͥ̊̿̚̚͘ɔ̸̵̵̴̭̣͔̜̰͖̝̳̰̜̣̦͎̦̗̰͎̔̂͌ͧͬ͂̐̒̚ᴉ̵̦̜̻̟͓̙̞̖̗͖̥͎͉̜̻͙̜ͣ̔̈̎ͮ́̀ͅɹ̧̭͔͇̏ͩ̋͊̏̀́͡ͅƎ̶̨̺̩̬͍̭̫͈̜̳͓̞̼̯̙̾͂ͦ̊̈͑̊͊̚̚͞͠ɐ͙̱̼̳̳̻̪͚̿͗̌̆͋̐ͯ͝ɔ̵̢̦͎͍̦͕̠ͪͯ̒̓̀́ͣͮ̉̈́̓̌̓̍͋͑̑ͤ́͡ᴉ̸̴̤̤̞͈̗̯̟͎̜͙̹ͯͬ͛̿̆͋ͫ̑̄͊ͭ̐ͩ͜ɹ̟̖͎͎̖̻̙͙̖̼̱̭̫̘͔͙̫̙͕͆̈̓ͧͩ̆ͭ̆͆ͬ͋̐̓ͧ̌̚͜͠Ǝ̧̽ͧ͂̅̐͒ͮ͗̆͏̼̗̼͎̺̯̖̯̳̹̘̳̻̩̳͔́ɐ̞̺̼͇̗̳̙̭̦͙̬ͪ̒ͤ̋͌͐͆͗ͨ̅̾̀̌ͥͩ͂͝͝͞ɔ̃̉ͫ͂̏̌ͯͥ̃͗ͫ͢͏̶̮̫̟̟̞̦͝͝ᴉ̡̰̱͖͇͖̪̲̩̖͗̏ͯ͒ͮ͐̉̑̂̀͘͜͞ɹ̶̝̹̠͙̭̙͚̩ͪ̿̉̀̄̒͗̽͗̒̋͂̂̑͌̌͟Ǝ̸̨̌̔ͨ̎͊҉̛̹̤͔̪̗̙̞ɐ̶̨̝̟̥͚̠̭͚͎͍̼̝̻̘ͫͤ̓ͤ̎͛̔̅̿̃̑̽̀͞ͅͅɔ̸̧͉͚͉̼͙̜̭͖ͧ̂͂̆̈́̉͋ͩ͌̌ͦ͑̓͘ᴉ͕̮̙̟͔͎̱̠͍͚͕̞̲͇͚͙̟̻ͤͯ̽̑͛ͤ͋̏͌́̕ɹ̩̣̮̗͕̼̝͛ͥ͒̇́͢͞Ǝ̙͎̯͍̼̎ͪ͂̔ͦ͗̈́͂̀̀͡ͅɐ̡̞͉͕̼͍̗̬͎̭̭͇͙̒͆̆̾̂͊ͫ͌ͩ̋͛̈̄̀̾ͭͧ̚͟͟ɔ̨͇̫͉͎͙̠̬͎̥͔̤̗͋ͦͮ̾̅̓͗͆͌̀̀̚͢ͅᴉ̴͙̝͉̞̩̮͓̮̐͊ͯͮ̃̍ͭͫ̏̋ͯ̉͟͟͠ɹ̧ͤ͛̓ͩ́̄̇̃ͯ̌̈́ͬ̏͛̓̎͏̪̭̦̘̪͎̪̟̯̦̣̫̳̹̜͓̜̩͝ͅƎ̸̷̲̪̻̥̼͕͉̰̱͙̯̪̺ͩͫͦ́͑̆͒͐̅͜͝ͅɐͪ̅̎̓ͣͮ͒̎ͧͦ̅ͣ̀̅͏̞̱̞̻̝ɔ̵̸̢̜̼̣͔̤̟̪̜͎̩̊ͭͧ̊̈͂ͤ̀̋́̂ͫ̽͑̚͟͟ͅͅᴉ̵̸̢̪͓̠̤̼̝̪̠̯͚̣̓ͥ͌̃̋̌̑͂ͯ̾ͨ͛̎ͮ̎̓̇͞͠ɹ̢̧̛̹̰͚͚̦͓̭̫͓͓̬͍̬̓͊ͮ̔ͮ̔͗ͭ̈ͬͬͩ͡Ǝ̍ͪͫ͒̐̎̓͑ͯ̾̍̋͆̓ͯ͋̄ͥ̿҉̼̖̺̬̱͍̘͉̥̝̘̳̰̦̥́͘ͅɐ̵̱̮͕͇̩͖̹̘͖͇̝̤ͣͦ̂̋͂̏̀́͜͞ɔ̢̡̡̗͚͉̻͚̐̒̂͗̎̑ͨ̉̐̍ͬ̃͌ͫ̚͝͝ᴉ̛̹͔̳̯̪̲͖̘̖̼̖ͯ͛̅̈̊̿͗͋ͮͨ̏͌̈́͗̅̈͒͟͡ɹ̶̢͍̭̟̪̠̳̙̩͍̥̹̫̱͉̖̇̅́̈̔ͬ́̌̄͗͆̈́̅ͨ̎̓͒̅̚͢͠͠Ǝ̧̩̤͔͍͓̻͚͖̜̰͚͎̯͆̊ͫ̄̀̕ͅͅɐ̸̧̡̳̖̭͎̦̘̱͖̦̘ͤ̇̄ͫ͛̅̑̇͂̈ͪ̀̏͝ɔ̯̰͍̳̞̳̱̑̇̓̂ͭͭ͆̋̆̌ͮ̄͢͝ᴉ̷̠̩̖̗̬̞͙̦͖̞̺̗̪͌ͣ͂̋̌͛͌̿̒́̇́ͦͥͪͮ̀͞͞ͅɹ̵̥̲͈͕͓̙̤̘̟͓̫̣̲̫ͨͤ͛̃̍̉͐̇̀̍́̓͛͂ͩͧ̽͘͟Ǝ̷̛̇̓̋̎̏̄ͣ̅́́҉͖̗̖͚̲͖̟͍̮̦̣̪͔̹̬̬͎ͅ**

  


  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so the good news is that I'm glad some of you were torn over who was right in the last chapter's argument, the bad news is everything else.


	117. Chapter 117

Tony comes to lying on the wooden floor boards on the mansion.

He coughs, blood flecking his lips. His limbs -- or at least, the ones he can feel -- are heavy. He grunts, skin burning, and rolls in the gold liquid, flops onto his belly.

Let's his head slip and knock against the ground, groaning. "Ty," he croaks "what have you done."

"What have I done?" Ty says, looking down at him. "I've fixed you."

"I can't," Tony coughs, more blood wetting the floor "I can't feel my legs."

"Without Extremis' nanites sending signals, you won't be able to."

Tony tries to draw gold out from his body, as easy as it is to flick a finger, but nothing happens. His head catches fire, and he shudders, hands thumping weakly against the floor.

"You look sick, Tony." Ty says gently, kneeling beside him. "Let me help."

"Get -- " Tony coughs again, and when he licks his lips he realises it's his nose that's bleeding "get off me."

"Let me clean that for you." Ty tsks, running Tony's old white shirt under his nose, staunching the blood. "That's it. Just let me."

Tony's eyes close involuntarily by the time he realises that Ty has taken off his shirt. He can't feel his pants, and he doesn't know if he's naked or not. It's not a nice feeling.

"How." He manages, eyelids fluttering, skin hot and pasty. "How did you."

Ty sighs. "Tony, you've been carrying the virus since the beginning."

"Since th'," Tony frowns "since th' beginning?"

Ty nods. "Mmm," he says, wiping Tony's sweaty hair from his head "yeah. Since Whitney stole it for you. She sent it to HYDRA and they got their best minds working on it. Flooded the code with corrupted nanites."

"With corrupted," Tony slack mouth tries to make the words "Whit - Whitney, HYDRA?"

"Yes, Tony." Ty soothes "Whitney works for HYDRA. I work for HYDRA. I've always worked for them, understand?"

"T-ty?"

Ty leans back against the bottom of the couch, slings one arm over his knee. "The doctors all said I was a sociopath. I don't, I mean they said you were one, too. I don't think there's anything neurologically wrong, you know? I'm just not entirely sure what love feels like. You were such a fascinating kid, Tony. I could never understand you. Your parents hated you, and you still chased after them like you were their own. Now, if that was me, I would have just killed them long ago, you know? But you -- " Ty frowns "or maybe it's just me. I don't know. I do know, however, that I feel very strongly about you." Ty's fingers play with Tony hair once more. "I would lie for you, kill for you. Maybe even put my life on the line for you, who knows."

"HYDRA," Tony gasps "Ty, Ty you can't be -- "

"But I am." Ty says gently. "That's just how it is. I have an idea, Tony, a brilliant idea that HYDRA can help me complete. And when they blow up your towers -- " 

Tony gives a low noise of fear as Ty stands, disentangling his hands from his jumper.

" -- it will be chaos. Perfect chaos. What's the range of one of your reactors, Tony? More than nuclear, I would think, but zero fallout. Wonderful. We'll blow up Dubai, and we'll blow up New York, and we'll blow up that pretty one you have powering the facility in California. Really overload them, not that pitiful thing you did to Stane all those years ago." Ty sighs, folding back his cuffs. "I suppose that means your Captain will die. And your new friends, and your fucking dog." Ty shrugs. "It won't matter, by the time I'm done with you. You won't care. You'll only have one thought in that clever little brain of yours, and that'll be me."

Tony coughs and he pushes himself up, rests his head on the couch. "What?" He croaks. "What are you talking about?"

Ty raises his eyebrows. "Me." He says. "When I have you hooked up to my invention, you won't be able to think about anything else. Or thereabouts. Honestly it's a work in progress. I'm not entirely sure how it works at all to be honest. It needs nanites, first and foremost, and you're absolutely flooded with those. We considered some kind of mental conditioning, you know? But it takes time and we need you intact, not like," Ty clicks his fingers, searching for a name "that guy in your tower, what's his name? The soldier? Barnes. Not like Barnes."

"I don't understand." Tony says weakly, head spinning. "Ty -- Ty you don't want to do this, I know you don't."

"Listen to me," Ty says, leaning close and gritting his teeth "you are the only one I care about. Everyone else can go to hell, okay? I know you don't see that now, but once I've fixed you it won't matter, Tony, you'll be happy. You won't remember being sad, because I'll be there." Ty smiles. "I'll be there." He says "Everything will be alright."

"You can't," Tony pants "you can't kill them. Please, don't kill them. Listen to me, Ty. Listen to me, I'm begging you. I'm actually begging you not to kill them."

"Tony, you know that won't change anything."

Whitney was HYDRA, Ty was HYDRA, he fell for both of them hook, line, and sinker. Is there nothing HYDRA hasn't destroyed? His family, his sanity, now they're going to take his friends, and they're going to make him watch.

"But you can." Tony insists, head spinning. He registers vaguely that his nose is bleeding again. "Ty, you can. I won't say anything if you come with me -- hell -- " he coughs "you'll be a hero, you'll, you'll be taking down HYDRA with me, we can -- Ty, please."

"Would you fuck me, Tony?" Ty says with a sudden viciousness, hand clamping down high up on Tony's thigh, a disorientating experience since he can't feel it. "Would you bend over and give me what I want?"

"I would do anything." Tony breathes. "Anything."

"For me not to kill them?"

"Yes."

Ty slaps him. "Wrong answer."

Tony moans. "What are you waiting for?" He says. "Kill me, then. I'm never going to go with you willingly, no matter what you throw at me."

"Want to bet?"

"Yes, you fucking idiot."

"I'm not an idiot."

"Ty you're the stupidest person I know. You think HYDRA's not going to kick you to the curb? Ty they'll kill you when you've done what they want, that's what they do."

"They won't kill me. I'm valuable. I have the DreamVision."

Tony groans, achy. "Oh, God, what's that, Ty?"

"You really wanna know?" Ty smirks. "Simulation machine, understand? You inject the subject with nanites, hook them up. You make them see what you want them to see. Originally it had commercial purposes. You know, pick your fantasy, live it out. It's hyper realistic, Tony, almost impossible to tell it's not real. Of course, it has addictive purposes, but that's no problem for a strong-minded guy like you, right?" Ty laughs at his little joke.

"Mind control?" Tony breathes. "Seriously? That's your plan?"

"HYDRA will roll it out nationwide as soon as they take control."

"Great," Tony says "and then what? They let you stick about?"

Ty rolls his eyes. "What reason do they have to kill me?"

"Oh I'm sure you'll give them one." Tony mutters.

Ty laughs. "I love your humour, Tony, I always have. You were always the funny kid. It used to make me jealous, can you believe?" Ty reaches round to a rucksack left on the coffee table, draws out duct tape. "Look at us now, Anty. Who knew?"

"Ty," Tony groans again, head pounding. "Ty, if you -- if you love me, you'll stop this."

"Yeah, no. You know why?" Ty asks, as he rips a strip of tape, pushes Tony's head down to his knees and drags his arms behind his back "You don't know what's good for you. You never did."

Tony grits his teeth and deals with the dizziness. He's finding out a lot of home truths today, isn't he?

"Cocaine, that's not good for you. Alcoholism, that's not good for you. You know what else isn't good for you? Fighting terrorists. I would most definitely take you off your head rather than you in an iron suit. And least you fuck me when you're high."

"Don't." Tony whispers. "Don't do something like that, Ty, you don't need to prove your point anymore."

"Point being, we're gonna go somewhere safe. Just you and me now. Anything else you'd like to say before I tape you up?"

Tony clears his throat. "HELP!" He screams "HELP! STEVE IT'S TY -- "

Ty slaps the tape down on his mouth, hits him on the back of his head. "Fine." He says. "Be that way."

Tony makes muffled protestations at Ty rips off his pants, bundles them and throws them to the side. "Want to get a good grip." He grins, and binds Tony's ankles and knees. It's strange, not being able to feel it, dissociative. This whole situation is dissociative. 

Ty lugs him up into a fireman's carry, and everything sways. The blood rushes to his head, something inside his brain twitches, and then he's gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Ty's theme-song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OIoMfVNVx4g)


	118. Chapter 118

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING'S FOR DUBIOUS CONSENT nothing actually happens but there's some talk and a little action verging on sexual assault so I'm tagging it 'dubious' instead of 'non-con' but be aware

He awakes in bed.

In his own bed.

Blinking, he tries his toes, wriggles them, feels the weight of the blanket over his legs. Gently, he reaches out with Extremis, brings up the newsfeed. The date is the seventh of March. He left the tower on the fifth.

Tony frowns, smacks his lips, runs his tongue over his gums and tastes pure death in his mouth. When was the last time he had something to drink? The world spins when he sits up, so he slides right back down, groaning.

Steve, Ty. Where is he? He's at home, apparently. This is his bedroom.

"Jarvis," Tony slurs "J where am I?"

"You are home, Sir." The voice replies. "The Captain will be glad to hear of your awakening."

"Steve's here?" He croaks. "Where? J, where's Ty? What happened?"

"The Captain would do better to explain, Sir."

"Jarvis," Tony coughs "Jarvis wait, explain."

"The Captain is here, now."

"Tony?"

"Steve," Tony gasps "Steve, where am I?"

"You're home, honey, shh." Steve hand strokes over Tony's hair. "Shit, I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I never wanted -- I'm sorry."

"What happened?" Tony asks. "Why -- "

"Stone." Steve says gently. "It was Stone. We caught him trying to shove you into the back of a car. I'm sorry. I'm so so fucking sorry."

"S'alright," Tony mumbles, rolling onto his side "no harm."

"Except there was." Steve says. "He hurt you."

"I'm okay." Tony mutters. "It's fine, Steve."

Steve pauses. "We got Stone."

"Where is he?" Tony slurs, cheek pressed into the pillow.

"Basement."

"Oh." Tony pauses. "Is he... is he hurt?"

Steve's eyes narrow. "Does it matter?"

Tony frowns. "Yeah," he says, voice rough "I think so. Is he... I don't know. Did you hurt him?"

"Mild concussion. He'll live."

"Okay," Tony sighs "okay. Steve, could you help me up?"

Steve gently places a hand behind Tony's shoulders, pulls him forward. Tony's face creases with pain.

"What's wrong?" Steve says, all urgency and concern.

"Extremis is scrambled," he mutters "whatever Ty did to it's fucked about with the connection. It's -- it's sending backlash. Aching."

"Do you need something? Painkiller?"

"I could take an aspirin." Tony says, smiling weakly.

"Bruce will bring one up. Anything else? Any other aches or bruises?"

Tony frowns. "My legs -- "

"Yeah?"

"Nothing. Ty deactivated my nanites, you know? Cut off the signals. I was paralysed, or I am. It's just -- it feels weird."

"It'll go away." Steve says, stroking Tony's forearm.

"They're HYDRA." Tony mutters. "Steve, Whitney and Ty -- "

"I know."

"They were my friends." Tony says, and he hangs his head. "They -- we grew up together. How could they do that? How could they -- "

"Shh," Steve says "you don't have to talk about it."

"Whitney," Tony chokes "she -- she told me to move forward the tower, she fucking infected me with nanites." Tony's eyes widen. "They're still in me, Steve, they're still there. HYDRA, they've, they've got their fucking claws in and -- "

Steve is smiling at him, but something's not quite right. It's not soft, and it doesn't reach his eyes.

"Steve?" Tony asks "Steve, are you okay?"

Steve's smile holds for a little longer, and then he slumps. Leans back in his chair. "I can't do this." He mutters.

"Can't do what?" Tony says, carefully. "What's wrong."

Steve's eyes grow sad. "I'm sorry, Tony."

Tony blinks. "Sorry? I know, I don't -- Steve, I don't blame you."

"Not about what happened," Steve dismisses "although I am, sorry, also. About that. Because it shouldn't have happened. I should have looked after you better, made sure you didn't run off."

Tony swallows, and the words don't help him relax. "Then what?"

Steve gives him that look. He tilts his head to the side and squeeze his lips together in a 'well, what are we going to do about it' sort of way. Tony stares.

"I think," Steve says gently "I think you know what."

"I... really don't."

Steve looks at him sadly, putting on a brave smile. He holds Tony's hand. "We... we can still be friends. I hope we can still be friends. Work together, you know? It's important."

Tony stares at him for a long, long time. "What."

"I can't," Steve's face grows pained "Jesus, Tony, I can't do this."

"You can't -- "

"I can't, I can't watch you hurt yourself over and over and over. I can't -- I can't stick around and tell you I love you, I love you, I love you, only for the words to never go in."

"But," Tony trembles "but I love you?"

"I don't think you do," Steve says quietly "not as much as you think. You're... infatuated with the idea of me. You've never really loved me."

Tony sits up, leans forward, can't believe what he's hearing. "But I do." He says, taking Steve's hand. "But I do love you. Fuck Steve, I love you more than I've ever loved anything. I love you more than -- please, Steve."

"It's like I said," Steve sighs "it's... you're the problem. You won't let me close. You want the relationship your own way, you won't compromise. I'm sorry it has to be like this."

"But you told me you loved me! You said you wouldn't leave!"

"The same goes for you, Tony." Steve pauses. "Look, some people aren't made for each other."

"Bullshit." Tony spits. "That's not true and you know it. You're just, you're running away, you're the one who's running away, not me. You can't handle it, you can't handle -- "

"You. I can't handle you." Steve says softly. "And that's not your fault, it's my fault. I thought I could handle you, and I told you those things, and I thought I meant them. But I need to break this off now, before it goes too far." Steve takes his hands. "It's better this way. For both of us."

"For both..." Tony's words falter. He blinks, feels Steve's skin under his hands and never wants him to let go. "For both of us."

"Yeah," Steve says "and we'll still be good friends, Tony, I know that. But there are other people who will be better for us. Someone young, a woman. I know there'll be someone out there for you, you can have anyone you like. You're good looking, strong, rich, funny. There's nothing about you not to love."

Tony shakes his head. "Don't leave."

"Tony." Steve says weakly.

"God, Steve, please don't leave."

"Don't make this hard. Don't make it hard for either of us."

"I can change, Steve. Fuck I can't believe I'm saying this, but I can change, okay? I can -- okay, I can't be younger, I can't change my gender, but I, I can be everything you want. What do you want me to be? Stop hurting myself? I'll do that, I'll be here for you all the time. I can stop the nightmares, I know I can. I'll, I'll fucking be quiet, I can," Tony smiles, desperate "I can just, I can make all the noise into the pillow, you know? I won't wake you up anymore, I won't -- come on, Steve, come on. This is, you don't need to be drastic."

"Don't embarrass yourself, Anty." Steve says softly.

"What more do you want me to do?" Tony gasps, clutching at Steve's hands. "Give me something, here. We can tell everyone we're together, I don't care! As long as I still have you, I swear. As long as I still have you."

Steve gently disentangles himself. "I'm sorry, Tony."

"Steve!" Tony cries "You can't just leave me here! You can't just -- you said you would never leave, you said -- "

Tony closes his eyes, head aching.

This isn't right.

"You said," Tony says slowly "you called me -- " 

He sighs. "You called me Anty." Tony says, defeated. "Oh, for fuck's sake Ty. Oh fucking hell, that's low. And cheap. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Ty makes an irritable noise from where he's appeared on the bed, next to Tony. He exhales, loudly. "It was worth a shot."

"What is this?"

Ty giggles. "This?" He says. "This is your head."

The scene around him dissolves, and then he's standing on a beach. Maybe in the Bahamas, somewhere with silver sand and turquoise oceans.

Tony spins. "What the hell was that." He growls. He steps forwards, hands reaching for Ty's neck, but the man ducks, and then -- this isn't possible, he's tapping Tony on the shoulder.

"Over here." He whispers, and when Tony turns, fists waving, he's gone again.

"Why don't you get over here and suck me, Tony?" Ty grins, and they're suddenly by a pool, and Tony's not wearing any clothes.

He shakes his head. "No." He says. "What are you -- Ty how are you doing this, aren't you fucking listening to me, you can't -- "

"Birthday suit not to you liking? You only have to say."

And then Tony's wearing a suit, a complete fucking suit, navy with a white collar and he's lying on a sun bed with his legs spread on either side -- 

"Enough." Tony spits, and he runs a hand through a mirage of Ty, grasps at his form. "I'm not playing this game."

"Anty, honey, don't you understand?" Ty's voice comes from somewhere. "You don't have a choice."

"It's my head."

"And I'm controlling it, don't you see? That's how DreamVision works, darling. You don't have a choice in what you see, I command it. I just shove whatever I want into your head and you take it. You're living in my brain, now."

Tony pauses, because there's no point fighting this, not yet. "I don't understand. Explain again."

Ty laughs. "Aww, Anty, you've always wanted to understand things."

"So enlighten me."

"Right now," Ty starts "we're both hooked into DreamVision, understand? I'm the controller, I'm controlling what you see. I'm controlling your head, actually. I put whatever I want in there. You do whatever I want. It's a miraculous bit of software."

"So that's why I can't stop myself."

"Hit yourself in the face."

Tony own palm comes swinging up to crack round his cheek.

"Again. Harder."

Tony's hand curls into a fist and he smashes it into his jaw.

"You see?" Ty says. "Total control."

"I get your fucking point." Tony says, face smarting. "What do you want from me?"

"Well. HYDRA want you out the way, in case you come in handy. I just want you, because you're you. It's a good deal. Maybe you would break under torture, we don't know; this is a lot easier." Ty pauses, and then he grins. "You know I can see your thoughts, Tony?"

"Fuck off."

"No no, I mean it. I can see... so much. Your memories, your little calculations. It's -- you are awe inspiring, you know."

"Let me go." Tony mutters. "Come on, Ty. You don't have to do this."

Ty's face softens. "They'll kill me, too." He says, simply. "Tony I have waited so long to have you like this. To just... have you. No harm can come to you here."

"My body." Tony says "What about my body? It's out there, somewhere." Tony swallows, because this all feels too real. It doesn't make sense that this is in his head.

"We have you hooked up to a drip, catheter. You're here for the long run, Tony."

"We?" Tony asks "We, as in -- "

"You're in one of our bases."

"A HYDRA base?"

"No a fucking space ship, yes obviously a HYDRA base."

Tony looks down. And then back up. "You can't let them blow up those towers."

"Jesus, Tony, we've been through this -- "

"Listen to me, Ty, Caesar," Tony says urgently "you can't let them kill that many people, do you understand? Ty this isn't a game, Tiberius, listen to me this is life and death, people will die. People will die. Hundreds of thousands of people. Children, Tiberius, there will be children dying, mothers, fathers, all those lives, you can't -- does this mean anything to you?"

Ty shrugs. "Not really."

Tony stares at him. "Oh, my God." He says, and he pushes his hair back off his forehead, digs in his nails. "Oh my God, you're a psychopath. I never knew. I never fucking knew. I just thought you -- I thought you were cold, that you only liked certain people, I empathised, but -- but you really are just a psycho."

"And?"

"Does the idea of thousands of people screaming for help mean nothing to you?"

"I prefer you on your knees."

"THIS ISN'T ABOUT ME!" Tony screams, sudden, violent. "JESUS, TY! This isn't about me, none of this is about me, I won't let you use me as an excuse to let those people die, I won't, I won't let you -- "

"Hmm." Ty says. "And what are you going to do about it?"

"I'll stop you."

"With what? Extremis? The power of love? Your asshole? Tony, give it up and give in. I reckon I'll have you slobbering over me in about a week if I press the right buttons."

"That isn't going to happen. I don't know if you heard, but I'm with someone."

Ty laughs. "Tony, you just don't fucking get it. I can have you forget about the Captain. All it'll take is a few more scenes like the one we just had and you'll forget what's real at all. How do you know you haven't been in DreamVision all along?"

"What?" Tony says, shaking his head. "Ty, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"I said," Ty repeats, slowly. "Do you really know how long you've been in here? What's the last thing you remember."

Tony swallows. "The mansion."

"What if a week's passed since then? What if -- and hear me out, Anty, what if you've been in DreamVision all along?"

Tony squints at him. "Are you out your fucking mind?"

"What if you can't remember what's real? What if everything's just been one big delusion -- you and Steve, the car crash, Extremis, your little breakdown. What if, what it I picked up after Killian? What if I picked you up after Vanko? What if you've been locked in here since the second you got out that fucking cave."

The scary thing, really, is that Tony almost believes it.

"That's not possible." He dismisses. "You wouldn't be here."

"Wouldn't I? Nothing you remember after it is real -- how do you know I stayed out of your life? Maybe I never left. Maybe we're married. Maybe outside is a wasteland. Maybe you've been hooked into DreamVision for years and years and you've been living out what I dictate for you."

"Stop screwing with my head." Tony spits. "This isn't a game."

Ty tilts his head to the side, looks at him, considering. "You're boring me, Tony. Blah blah bleugh I get it, you don't want me killing your beau and the make-shift family of misfits and broken toys you've got going on but I don't care, okay? I'm here for you. And honestly, right now you're not living up to the package." Ty frowns, sighs. "Okay, right now, I'm picturing you hard and needy, and you're sucking whipped cream off your fingers. No, changed my mind, whoops, you're jerking off, ready to come on my command. Or, even better, you've got a plug up your ass and you're filled with my spend. What will it be?"

Tony reaches out with his mind, searches for something to grasp on to. He takes Steve's picture, and holds it in the forefront of his mind.

"I see what you're doing, Tony." Ty smirks. "It isn't going to work."

Tony isn't sure how DreamVision works, exactly, because he's a brain inside a brain. God, it's confusing. But while Ty can will him into any scenario, he can't twist his thoughts, not directly.

So Tony gets Steve's picture, and he holds it in his brain. Right at the forefront of all his thoughts.

And he keeps it, in the time that follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To answer some questions
> 
> 1\. Fucknut will not be hurt in any way ever and will most like transcend all the Avengers to become a omnipotent god like figure for the rest of eternity  
> 2\. Steve and Tony will get some nice time after this but also LOTS OF ANGST because we'll be coming into the final stages of the story and I can't let Tony get away scott-free like I can promise about the same level of angst we had while Tony was ill except maybe you'll see more of it and he won't be as medicated.
> 
> Yeah, so to sum: lots of angst coming, all board the fucking angst train to hell, and then it gets better and we start to wrap the whole thing up
> 
> but omg i'm so excited to do this angst can u tell or


	119. Chapter 119

"And then he left." Steve says. "Just... upped. And walked out."

"Really." Bucky says dully. "That's awful."

"Are you listening to me?" Steve asks. "Are you hearing what I'm saying?"

Bucky shrugs and Steve tries not to snap. Take in a breath, breathe out, count to ten.

Okay. Start again.

"It's infuriating." Steve admits. "It's, it's really infuriating."

"Stop." Bucky says, abruptly. "Stop this."

"What?"

"This. This thing where you talk at me and wait for me to respond. It's not helping."

Steve pauses. "Okay." He says. "Can I -- can I ask what would help?"

"I remember you." Bucky says, voice low. "From before, okay? I remember all of it. Us. Our friendship. Our -- I loved you,"

Steve stares at him. "But not anymore?"

"It's dulled." Bucky says. "It's like looking at a movie of someone else's life. I've tried to get it back. I can't."

Steve swallows. "You can try."

"No." Bucky mutters. "No. I -- " He pauses. "I don't want to be like you."

"Excuse me?"

"Living for the past. I don't want to do that. I have a chance at a new life. Maybe even a happy one. I will not be dragged back."

Steve stares. "Living in the past? How am I -- "

"You spent months trying to find me."

"Let me assure you, Bucky, that that was not me living anywhere. That was me trying to save my best friend."

"Why?"

"I think I just mentioned why."

"No, you didn't. You wanted something from the past. And it held you back."

"It didn't hold me anywhere -- "

"I have a girl. And a job. And a house. That's more than I had back -- " Bucky looks away " -- that's more than I had back home."

Steve falls silent. "I see." He says. "You know -- "

"I know what?"

"You know that, that you don't have to worry, anymore."

"Don't have to worry?" Bucky says with the beginnings of a smirk. "HYDRA's at every corner. I'm worried. I'm worried they say the word, and I go down. Or I wig out. Forget." He looks down at his beer, quiet. "I worry -- " he breaks off, clears his throat. "Sometimes, at night, I forget. It's very, very easy to forget in the dark. I," his lips draw into a thin line "I punched Nat in the stomach."

Steve looks at him. "She's tough." He says eventually.

Bucky swallows. "What kind of sick bastard hits his girl, Steve."

"This isn't like that."

"But it is. You remember old McTaggert? He and his wife lived in the apartment under mine."

"I remember."

"He was a vet, too. Remember when his wife would turn up to church with the bruises on her face?"

"That's different. Completely different. Natasha understands, and she's stronger than her."

"But it would be justified, her leaving. No woman -- no partner," he says pointedly "should have to put up with that."

Steve looks at him. "What are you saying?"

Bucky shrugs. "Nothing." He says. "I worry."

 

And Steve starts to worry, too, after a day goes by and there's no response from Tony.

Tony wouldn't joke about. He wouldn't not check in with Jarvis. He wouldn't not send at least a message to say he's okay. Because he knows the risks, and he knows Steve worries, and he knows the protocol.

And so at six pm he's declared missing. 

Natasha starts to manually scour through Jarvis' records, because something's being blocked. He's being prevented from talking. When they do finally hit the right timepiece, they see footage, taken from Tony's own brain, of Tiberius Stone. He says something, and then he takes out his phone, and then the whole thing goes static, the whole screen, like and old video.

Audio holds, for a while. They get to hear screams, and pleas. Tony calls Steve's name, and then it goes blank.

So they put two and two together, and they come up with HYDRA. Natasha, Clint and Bucky head down to the old mansion, try to track Tony's trail, but they only get as far as the gates before it turns up cold. Some days go by, and nothing changes. The take out their list of hideouts, and by process of elimination, determine which are most like to hold Tony.

After five days and three burning craters where HYDRA cells used to operate, they realise they need a different tact.

Steve can't --

It's HYDRA.

HYDRA have Tony.

He feels his gorge rising, and then he's throwing up down the toilet, again and again. A few things, he thinks. One, HYDRA have Tony, and they will be torturing him. Two, this has happened before. Three, he knows what happens when HYDRA get their hands on you.

You're never the same.

And four?

They have no idea where to start.

There's no ransom. The only logical explanation is that they want Tony for his brain. For intel. Hell, maybe they just wanted him off the field. Maybe he's --

Maybe Tiberius Stone shot him through the head and left this body in a river. Maybe he's already dead.

This is Steve's fault. This is all Steve's fucking fault.

He regrets what he said. If he could take it back, he would. Tony didn't deserve to hear that, of course Tony would be anxious about coming out, and hell, now that Steve thinks about it, he's not so sure it was a great idea anyway. He said some bad, bad things. Hurtful things, and he saw it in Tony's eyes when he walked away. He had looked betrayed.

Steve doesn't want Tony thinking that about him. He doesn't the last thing they ever say to each other --

He doesn't want the last thing he ever said to Tony to be those awful, awful words; 'you're the problem, you're the problem you coward.'

Jesus Christ, what had he been thinking.

If he could do anything, have anything, it would be Tony, here, home safe. Home. Away from, away from HYDRA and their knives and probes and --

Don't think don't think don't fucking think, don't think about it block it out don't imagine, oh but what if Tony's screaming right now what if he's in pain what -- 

Steve groans and pushes up, staggers to his feet. Splashes his face with cold water, and heads back out into their bedroom.

Dog is waiting, curled on Tony's side of the bed, and isn't that just the fucking worst. He's lying there, waiting, because Tony would never even dream about going to bed without saying goodnight, or without making sure he was sandwiched carefully on his side so he wouldn't get between him and Steve.

He rubs a hand over his face, slumps. Dog whines, and presses his nose against Steve's shoulder.

He doesn't remember falling asleep, but when he wakes up he's spread horizontally over the bedsheets, arm wrapped around a warm lump. For a second, just a second, he thinks it's Tony, and then he remembers why that can't be possible.

There's an alarm sounding, although it takes time for him to recognise it. It's not the call to arms, just an incessant beeping, more like an alert. Steve sits up and starts to make his way to the main floor in search of the problem. If it was Tony, someone would have woken him up. If something bad had happened, they wouldn't leave it to an alarm.

How many times had Steve and Tony looked out of these windows? A whole wall of them, a wall of glass, the launch pad just outside. When Tony had been ill, there were days when Steve would drag the sofa right up to the window, let him lie there and watch the world go by. Sometimes he would join him.

The floor is busy. The entire team, sans Thor, as usual, sits pressed on one couch. It's almost like Steve can see the divide in the air.

Us, and her.

Whitney.

She's sitting in the armchair, legs crossed, shoulders a tense line. She looks like she's come back from somewhere important; a black dress and fur coat, both of which are damp with the rain. Her her is slick against her forehead.

"Steve." She says, and there's no weeping or fragility, nothing that Steve has come to know her for. She watches him carefully across the room, and doesn't speak again until he sits.

"Where's the dog." She says, abruptly.

"Upstairs." Steve says, surprise not showing in his voice.

"It's alive?"

"Well it's not dead."

Whitney nods. "Good." She says. "He loves that dog."

Steve stares at her. "Is it a priority?"

"He'll want it when he gets home. He'll need his comforts."

Steve stands before he even realises he's doing it. "You know where he is." He spits, and he's half-aware that he's standing over Whitney, towering over her, and she's not flinching back. "You know where he is and you're not -- "

"Sit down, Steve." She says quietly. "You're not helping anyone. Please listen, or I'll talk to someone else."

Steve doesn't want to sit; it feels like defeat. He settles for moving to the other end of the coffee table and crossing his arms.

Whitney inhales, then sighs. "Okay." She says. "Fine. I need your word -- all of your words -- that you won't harm me."

"Why would we harm you?" Clint says, head tilted, and playing a pocket knife.

Whitney's eyes slide back to Steve. "I think you know why."

Steve almost lurches to his feet and slams his fist into her head. Almost. Because he knows.

He knows what's coming next.

"I was recruited." She says calmly. "It's a long and... complicated, story. My father's business -- "

"Mafia." Clint says abruptly. "You father's a crook."

Whitney nods. "The Maggia was in trouble. At the time, I was working for my father. Tony, uh." She looks down. "You know, he always said that, that he was trouble. That I had a perfectly good father who genuinely loved me and -- whatever. Point being, they went to HYDRA for help. I went to the Carbonells -- it didn't go well. You remember Paul? Yeah, well he ended up dead because of me."

"Tony's... mother. Tony's cousin."

"Yes. Yeah." Whitney clears her throat. "So it was a mess. We owed money to the Carbonells because I hadn't wanted to get into bed with terrorists, and my father owed an allegiance to HYDRA. We couldn't -- " she shakes her head. "It doesn't matter. My father's dead, now. HYDRA killed him when he didn't pay up. The entire Maggia is gone. They killed my step-dad, too, as a warning. And then they told me that they would spare my life if I helped them."

"Weak." Natasha says. "That's weak."

"What you need to know is that I wouldn't have joined them otherwise."

"But you did." Steve says. "That's the important thing, here, because if you hadn't Tony would be here and if you were dead, well, then, no great loss."

Whitney stares at him, then looks away, cool. "Do you want to know where he is?"

Steve, resentfully, swallows his words.

"Tiberius is psychotic." She begins. "He's always been psychotic. I've always known that. After Tony left Harwell, things started happening. A boy broke his legs falling down the stairs. A girl killed herself. Items would go missing. We knew it was him, things tied to him. We couldn't prove it. I was scared, we all were. I couldn't stop talking to him, I couldn't stop being there, because that would make me the next on his list."

Steve listens, quietly. Carefully. Takes it in, because this is all indicative of how he will act next. 

"He was obsessed," she continues "with Tony. And I do mean obsessed. I could never understand why, exactly. Tony wasn't -- he was clever, and he was funny, but look, he was never the world's best and greatest. He wasn't Ty. I loved him. I still fucking love him. So I know what Ty feels is... unnatural. Strange. When I went to college I was so fucking happy, because I was in Boston and Ty was on another coast, but then he dropped out and he came, he lived with Tony and that first night he smiled at me because he knew he'd taken him away and there was nothing I could do about it."

"Why didn't you tell him." Steve growls. "If this is what you thought, why didn't you tell him?"

"Tony?" Whitney laughs, cold and cruel. "Yes, yes Tony. I did tell him, you fucking sanctimonious prick, I told him what Ty was, and he wouldn't listen. It's what broke us apart, eventually, because he wouldn't listen and he got in deeper and deeper -- sorry, none of you know this, do you, he hasn't told you, well he was a druggie for a good four years, how about that -- and I was the only one who cared, understand? Me. No one else tried to stop him. Even you," she spits at Rhodey "even you didn't do shit, you just let it happen, didn't bother to stop him at all."

"We weren't friends like we are now."

"No of course you weren't. Did Ty ever threaten you, Rhodes? Did he? Because he threatened me. Threatened anyone who ever tried to get close, to even touch him, and you, Captain, he knows he can't touch you, so he's waging a fucking war. He'll take Tony and he'll turn him inside out and he'll spit him out again. And then we'll see what happens, won't we. If for Ty, it's all in the thrill of the chase. If, after he's got him, he just lets him go."

"Turns him inside out?" Steve says "What does that mean?"

Whitney makes a low sound, almost like a scoff. "I'm getting there, Rogers, just you wait. You know Ty killed his parents, right? His own parents, his own flesh and blood. They fucking loved him, and he just -- " Whitney stops, takes in a deep breath.

"Look," she says "I'm not asking for forgiveness. And no one knows more how far I've let this get. I could have warned Tony that Ty was after him, what they had planned. But I didn't. I was the one who stole Extremis. I took it to HYDRA, and they tweaked it, flooded it with corrupted nanites. It's my fault he's down. Mine. Ty... Ty promised me things, stupid, stupid things, and I realise that its an empty prize because Tony's worth nothing to me if what he feels isn't real. If what he feels is just some drug fuelled lust or hallucination."

"But he's worth something to us." Steve hisses. "He's ours. So tell us, now, and stop fucking about: what has Ty done to him?"

Whitney stares at them, unflinching but voice shaky. "It's called DreamVision." She says.

"What is it." Rhodes asks, blunt.

She swallows. "It's... not like anything you've seen before. Think of it as TV for the brain. You get hooked up to the server, and then you live out your fantasy in high-definition, 100% lifelike quality."

"And that's what he's," Steve shakes his head, because it's dawning on him "that's what he's linked up to Tony."

"It's addictive. And it doesn't always work. There were high occurrences of seizures in the first tests -- "

"First tests?" Clint spits. "And who the fuck were you testing it on?"

Now, Whitney bows her head. "They were taking people. Off the street. Poor people, mostly, people that wouldn't be missed."

"Tony said people were going missing." Rhodes says.

"And no one's noticing. Yeah. See why? Mostly from New York." Whitney explains.

"The kind of people that still go to church." Rhodes spits, and that's a very specific group of people. Alone, poor, and vulnerable. Praying to God even though no one is there to notice when they're gone.

"That's sick." Natasha says quietly. "That's sick."

"It needed nanites to work properly. The server is hooked up to Tony's brain, but Ty's the default controller. He's the person pulling the strings. Tony sees what he wants him to see. It's possible that he doesn't even know where he is."

Steve can't say anything else, so Natasha takes over. "And to what purpose? What's the endgame here?"

Whitney inhales. "They're going to blow up the towers. No, listen to me -- yes, I know I told Tony to move it forward, okay? I know it's my fault. But you know, now, and you can prepare. They needed Tony out of the way but they need him alive, just in case. Ty can make him pliable, it works better than any torture, trust me, I know. Just -- listen to what I'm saying, because we haven't got time to waste."

"And we should trust you?" Rhodes growls, standing. "We should trust you because what? How do we know this isn't just another part of your sick game?"

"You don't, but I wouldn't have told you otherwise. And this is your only chance before it's too late, because I know where Tony is."

"You know where he is." Rhodes says slowly. "You know where -- well what the fuck are we doing sitting around here, then?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO VERY IMPORTANT PLEASE FOLLOW MY NEW WRITING BLOG (LINK BELOW) BECAUSE THAT WAY YOU GET UP TO DATE INFORMATION ON WHEN I'M POSTING AND INEVITABLY WHY I'M NOT AND ALSO FUNKY LIL' SNIPPETS AND YOU CAN QUESTION ME WITHOUT ME BEING AFRAID THAT IN REAL LIFE PEOPLE ARE WONDERING WHY I'M WRITING GAY FISTING PORN IT'LL BE FUN FOR EVERYONE
> 
> also there are some other stories in this series which you can check out if you press the lil' > link at the top
> 
> aaaaand part six is nearly over


	120. Chapter 120

They go low profile. Usually, Steve will have his shield strapped to his back, his suit on, Tony backing him up. It's hard to do stealth with Iron Man so they work with what they've got.

But now, Iron Man's not here. Steve's got a gun and Natasha's got a rifle and none of them are even in the realm of fucking around. They're cautious of the fact that Tony is somewhere inside this building, so they can't go in all guns blazing. They're cautious of the fact that he could be used as a human shield. And they're cautious of the fact that any moment Ty could pull the plug, and Tony could just snap, fall down into brain death and a catatonic state.

Whitney covers them, wearing the same mask she had on when she injected Tony with Extremis, and a jumpsuit not unlike Natasha's. Steve knows that HYDRA will kill her, now. That she's not safe. It doesn't bother him particularly; she would be better off dead. But Tony wouldn't want that. He would want her alive. Because Tony is stupidly, blisteringly loyal to people he loves.

And he owes Tony this, at least.

Silently, he gestures to Natasha, who slams down the door, gun raised. They lead these missions by virtue of the fact they do stealth best; Clint, for all his strengths, is more offensive. He covers them from afar.

But the room is empty. It's an old cafeteria, benches turned over, the grey walls spattered with brown blood. There's still food littered on the table, along with newspapers and trash. Steve checks the date.

Recent. Just two days ago. This place has been abandoned, and it's been abandoned recently.

"Are you sure this is it." Steve calls back, looking ahead.

"This is it." Whitney says, and there's uncertainty there. "I'm sure of it."

"Oh yeah?" Comes Rhodes voice over the comms "And how to we know that's not a big fat lie."

"Because he's through here." Whitney says, slamming past Steve. "We haven't got time to fuck about."

"Hold back." Steve says, hand coming up to block the team. "You're telling me that they ran, and they left Tony here."

"Well I don't know if they've left Tony," Whitney says with a hint of desperation "but if we don't fucking check, we'll never know? Don't be an ass, Steve, please. I'm on your side."

"So you say." Natasha mutters, cocking her gun. "You stay back. I'll go first."

"Careful." Steve warns, but then Natasha's giving the all clear. 

"Corridor's empty." She says. "Looks like some offices, file rooms. Nothing much."

"DreamVision." Clint says. "What about DreamVision."

Natasha keeps moving down. "Nothing here, nothing -- oh."

"What?" Steve says, and he rushes to catch up with her. "Is it there? Is it -- "

The room is entirely dark except for the staccato beating of a heart monitor, slow and steady. It's hard to make out anything in the gloom, and Steve fumbles for his phone, flips on the torch.

It's Tony.

And they have just left him. Drawn and pale, lying limply on the bed. One hand trails on the floor, hanging off the gurney, and he's wearing a cheap blue hospital robe. His neck is at an uncomfortable angle and he's hooked up to wires, an IV, a cannula. His legs look frail where they stick out from under the paper thin robe.

There's something on his head. A metal contraption with electrodes, wires. Steve flips the torch and traces it back to a heavy looking machine with a screen in the centre. Further investigation shows another headset, identical to Tony's, lying unused on a similar gurney.

With that, Steve takes Tony's cheeks in his hands. "Tony," he breathes "Tony it's me. It's Steve, now. Wake up. Come on, Tony, wake up."

Tony's breathing remains even, the heart monitor steady, and he does not open his eyes. Steve makes a noise of frustration and begins ripping at the wires, first the IV, and then going for the cables connecting Tony's headset to the screen.

"Are you mad?" Whitney hisses, taking his wrist and pulling down, sharp. "Are you trying to damage his fucking brain?"

Steve stares at her, and then back at Tony. "He's not -- he's not waking up."

"They must have known we were coming," Whitney murmurs, fingers trailing along Tony's forearm. "Anty? Sweetie, wake up. Wake up, it's Whitney. And Steve. And Natasha and Clint. Tony? Tony your friends are here."

"Why isn't he getting up." Steve says behind his teeth, frantic. "Tony," he says, kneeling by the bed "Tony please, hey. Can you hear me? If you can hear me, just move, or say something."

The beeping continues at it's relaxed pace and nothing changes.

"Jesus," Steve exhales "oh, God, oh God, oh God."

There's a bang, the sound of something heavy hitting metal, and Steve sees Natasha push Whitney into a locker. "What the fuck is this?" She spits. "Is this some kind of joke? Is this some kind of, some kind of trap? Is he dead? Is he dying? This is your fault, Frost, no other way of looking at it, so give me some fucking answers."

"I don't know." Whitney gasps, scrabbling at the hands on her throat. "Fuck, I don't know, I don't know, I thought Ty was here, I thought he was here, I didn't know, I swear I didn't know.'

Natasha backhands her, once, and lets her slip to the floor. She moves to the screen and pulls at the keyboard, speaking something guttural in her native tongue.

She curses. "It's some kind of code." She says "I'm good, but I'm not this good."

"What do you mean?" Clint asks, coming in from checking the hall.

"I mean I think he's stuck in there." Natasha says, eyes flicking through reams and reams of green lines. "I think he's alive, but Ty was controlling what he was seeing. Now he's gone and Tony's just... stuck. It's like Ty locked them both in a room, then left and threw away the key. I don't know what to do."

In the corner, Whitney coughs. "Go in." She rasps. "You need to go in with him."

Steve turns, looks down at her. "And how do you figure that?"

She clutches her throat, gasping. "Because he's stuck." She says "You're right. And he can't come out of there on his own. You need, need to ease him out of it."

"Ease him out of it." Steve murmurs.

He runs his hand over Tony's cheekbone. He's lost weight, in about the week he's been gone. He bones are prominent, his face pale. No sunlight, no real food.

Steve turns, and clasps the metal headpiece in his hands. "And if I went in," he says "how would I know this wasn't some big trick?"

"Because I love Tony just as much as you do."

"I doubt that." Steve says calmly. "You know how to use the controls?"

"I'm adequate."

"Okay." Steve says. "Fine. Natasha, I need you to cover me. Clint, you take outside. Get Rhodes down here and call in Bruce and Thor for the entrance. Tell Bucky it's time to suit up."

Clint nods, jerky, and Natasha watches him. "This is dangerous."

"I can't leave him in there."

"I didn't say that," Natasha murmurs "I just mean that it's risky. Let," she pauses "let me go instead."

"No," Steve says softly "I won't risk that. Maybe he'll respond better to me."

"Or maybe you'll get stuck in there, too. And then we'll never see either of you again."

"It's better if it's Steve." Whitney says. "Tony might not want to come out. It needs to be someone he trusts more than anything. Does he trust you more than anything?" She asks, looking at Steve.

Steve looks away. "I think so."

"Good. Then saddle up, and let me explain. You're going into Tony's head, but you're not going to be the default, understand? When the controller leaves the simulation, control automatically switches to the remaining party."

"So Tony's going to be dictating what I see."

"Maybe. If that was the case, this wouldn't be necessary. The fact that he's not waking up means he's in deep; he probably doesn't even know he's in the simulation anymore. It's probably going to be more like a memory free-fall; he won't know what he's seeing, he'll be switching from place to place. Honestly, I have no idea. I don't know what to expect. But you have to be ready for whatever he throws at you."

"Why would he throw anything at me?"

Whitney's face darkens. "He won't. But Tony has met some ugly people, and he's not in control of what he's seeing. If you die -- " Whitney bites her lip "I don't think you die in real life, okay? But there might be seizures, brain damage. In the state Tony's in, I need you to make sure he doesn't. Keep him calm, at all costs."

"And lure him out."

"Convince him it isn't real. Show him that. Explain that you're waiting for him, that it's only been a week. It might take an hour, it might take ten. But you can do it." Whitney looks away. "Probably."

Steve nods. Swallows. "Okay." He croaks. "Fine. Nat, Clint. I'll see you on the other side. Whit," Steve's eyes flicker "screw us over and Nat will kill you. Painfully."

"Noted." Whitney says, and Steve feels the electrodes plaster to his head. There's a buzz, like an electric shock, travelling down his temples, not necessarily unpleasant. Whitney loads a serum into a syringe and poises it over his forearm. 

"Nanites." She explains, and then he falls away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soo that's the end of part six. Part seven is basically Steve trawling through Tony's head and bringing shit full circle. And then angst. And then the end. So.
> 
> Also I'm gonna start following back because i have this new blog but i'm following 0 people and i wanna see what the people who read this stuff are like. I LOVE TALKING TO YOU GUYS, YOU'RE THE BEST, OKAY? HEARING JUST THAT YOU'RE STILL ENJOYING IT MAKES MY DAY.


	121. Part Seven

The corridor is wide, and filled with light. Natural light; it streams in through a window at the end, just where the path bends, turning left.

Steve stands in the middle. There are doors, wooden, oak, lining the walls. Some pictures of generic things, a boat, a farm, some flowers. The mahogany floorboards are a dark, healthy brown. The carpet that runs through the middle is red with a burgundy trimming.

Steve looks left, to a dead end. And he looks right, to the window.

There's a man, standing in front of it. Not a man, not exactly. It's black, deep black, a shadow, really. And it doesn't have a face. Humanoid in shape, it lifts an arm, almost as if to reach for Steve, then smoothes back.

"Hello?" Steve asks, cautiously. "Hello? I'm Steve." He feels stupid, talking to the darkness like this. It doesn't mix well. This figure wouldn't look out of place in a horror film. It shouldn't be in this bright, sunny corridor.

The figure doesn't move, and when Steve blinks, it's gone.

Strange. Clearly, this place isn't going to abide by normal rules. Cautiously, he moves down the corridor, to the window. It's all yellow light, like a bright sunny day. Steve instinctively moves for his pocket, and finds the gun he came with still there. No shield, but it's better than nothing.

Outside, there's a cornfield. Nothing else, as far as the eye can see. Just rows and rows and rows of corn. He can see other parts of the house, red bricked with stained glass windows, and he realises he's in Tony's mansion. This is Tony's old home.

Except he's pretty sure that this house was in New York, not Bumfuck, Iowa.

So it's just empty, corn, as far as he can see. Silent, except for the sound of cicadas. The occasional creaking of the floorboards.

"Tony?" Steve calls, raising his gun. He's aware that something could attack him, now. He's aware that the figure may not be friendly. "Tony? Are you in here?"

Quiet.

Slowly, Steve begins to move down the bend in the corridor, away from the window. More doors, except when Steve tests them, they're locked. At the end, there are stairs. 

More paintings, some statues. This is Tony's house, he recognises it perfectly. He's been here once or twice with Tony, to scavenge from his father's office, to pick up old photos or whatever it is he needs for his work.

There's a sharp bang, like a door slamming, and Steve spins, gun up and ready. He hears heavy footsteps moving briskly down the corridor he just came down, thumping hard.

The sound continues. It moves out onto the landing, and then walks down the stairs he's standing on. Thump, thump, thump. Steve feels the air shift as _something_ walks past him, down into the entry, past the front door, and back, down some stairs, into the basement.

He hears the steps retreating, and another slam. He flinches.

And stays very, very still for a long time.

Eventually, he calls out again. "Tony?" He croaks. "Tony, it's Steve. Are you in here?"

It occurs to Steve that he may not be. Maybe Tony thinks he's an intruder, maybe he's hiding. Maybe he'll never come out willingly.

Too many factors, too much can go wrong.

He moves swiftly down the stairs, but doesn't turn in the direction of the basement, where the steps had gone. Instead, he heads for a door directly left of the front door, kicks it open.

The living room. Empty, except for a few bottle littering the table. Recently opened, recently drunk.

_Tony._

There are some empty candy wrappers, too. For lack of anything else to eat, maybe. Does Tony have to eat, in here? Does he realise that he's in the DreamVision? Or does he just accept that he's stuck in an old mansion. Maybe he thinks this is what life is.

Him, and the ghosts.

Steve flexes his shoulders, exhales through his nose. Easy, he tells himself, take it easy. None of this is real.

The quiet is stifling, though. He makes his way back into the hallway, gathers his bearings. Behind him is a double door, leading outside. In front of him, the stairs he came down, wide, splitting left and right. Right being the corridor he found himself in first, and left as of yet undiscovered. On either side of the stairs, alcoves, one leading down in the basement kitchen, another leading down to Howard's workshop.

And then to the right of him, a door leading to Maria's dayroom.

He cracks it open, cautious. Peers round. The paint is yellow and fresh, not cracked and fading like it should be. There's a piano and red couches. Some wine. A book that looks like it's been put down just moments ago, heels left neatly by the couch. There's a long coat thrown over the back of a chair.

It all looks so new. So fucking real. Is Steve --

God, is this really just an illusion?

There are two double doors, bay windows and instead of what should be a stone patio and garden there is corn. Steve tries the doors and, unsurprisingly, they don't open. He snorts, half in frustration and half at his own naivety. "Tony?" He calls "You in here? No? Shocking. Okay." He sighs and turns to head back out into the hall.

There's a rustling. Somewhere behind him.

Steve spins, gun raised. "Tony?" He says. "Is that you?"

The rustling stops, abruptly. Steve pauses. "Hello?" He asks, cautiously. "It's Steve. I'm Steve. Tony, are you in here?"

The heavy curtain shifts, slightly. There's a small glimpse of a shock of brown hair, which gasps, and then disappears.

"Hello?" Steve says softly, stepping closer. "Tony, it's Steve. It's me. I can see you, stop hiding."

The curtain rustles and there's a heavy thunk where the boy hits something against the wall. A little 'ow'.

Steve puts down the gun, sighing. "I'm not going to hurt you." He says "You can come out, please. Please come out."

The little boy sticks out half his head, eyes wide. And Steve recognises those eyes.

"Tony?" He whispers. "It's me. It's Steve. Do you... do you recognise me?"

Tony removes himself from the curtain entirely, wiping his hand over his mouth. He's small. Very, very small. The Tony Steve knows is short, yes, but this kid couldn't be older than four at a push. And he's built like a toddler.

"Oh, God." Steve says. "Uh, look. I'm Steve. I'm -- here to help."

The little boy just looks up him. He's wearing a stripy blue and red shirt and plaid pants which really only confirms that it's little Tony because those are seventies clothes, even a man who missed the era can tell.

Tony stares up at him, clearly wary. He blinks.

"I'm Steve Rogers." Steve says again. "I'm here to help you, understand? Tony? How old are you?"

Tony blinks again and looks at his fingers. Counts, one, two, three, four, and holds up his hand.

"You're four?" Steve swallows. "That's -- okay. Tony, do you know where you are?"

He nods.

"So you know you're at home?'

Another nod.

"And, do you know who I am?"

Tony pauses. And then shakes his head. 

This isn't what Steve expected. He doesn't know how to fix this. An older Tony, sure. He could talk to him, reason with him. But this is a kid.

"Can you talk?" Steve asks. "Or, uh. Do you not know how yet?"

"I can talk." The boy says abruptly.

"Oh." Steve says. "So, could you tell me what's going on?"

Tony shrugs. 

"Could you give me a little more than that, maybe?" Steve says, irritation seeping into his tone.

Tony steps back. "S-sorry." He says. "Sss-sorry Sir."

"No," Steve says, stepping forward "I'm sorry. My name's Steve, okay? Call me Steve."

Tony nods, jerky, but Steve's screwed up. He's on edge, now. The little boy is already scared, and Steve's made it worse. He kneels down onto one knee, smiles. "Hey," he says, softly. "You're Tony, right?"

Tony nods.

"Well, I'm here to help. We're going get out of here."

Tony shakes his head, stepping back. "N-no."

"No?"

"D-d-don't want to g-go."

Steve stares. "You... don't want to go." He repeats, slowly.

Tony nods. "It's not," he stutters "I don't wanna."

Steve nods. Swallows. "Okay. Okay, well -- "

There's a thump against the window, and the figure is back. It presses it's thin, dark fingers against the pane, tries to crack through the glass through strength of will. Steve stumbles back, scuttling on his ass, and Tony gives a cry of fear. "Go away!" He screams. "Go away!"

The man disappears. Just like that. 

The corn outside continues to sway in a non-existent breeze.

A cloud hovers on the horizon. 

"What is that?" Steve pants. "Tony? Tony what is that?"

Tony shakes his head. "C'mon," he says, tugging at Steve's shoulder. "We need to go now."

"Go where?"

Tony points up at the sky. "It's getting dark. We need to go, the monster's gonna come soon."

Steve squints. "Getting dark?" He says. "Tony, the sun is high -- "

But he's right. Somehow, some way, the sky is tinging pink.

"C'mon." Tony says, pulling, frantic. "We gotta' go."

"Right." Steve says. "Right. Fine. Let's go. Gotta' go."

He lets Tony tug his hand, stumbling forward on short little legs. They run up the stairs, Steve bent over in order for Tony to keep a hold of his fingers, and down a corridor. Tony starts crying when they open the door and see out the window that it's dark outside.

He wails. "Come on." He says. "Quickly, quickly, quickly."

"Hey," Steve soothes "hey it's okay."

"Hide!" Tony says, and he climbs under the bed. "Please, Steve! Hide!"

Steve looks around, frantic. "I can't fit under the bed, Tony!"

"Please, you can, please." Tony says, scooting over as if that'll make a difference. "I can make it happen, I can make it. Please hide."

Steve looks out the window, where the sky is somehow now entirely black, and he falls to his knees, squirms under the bed.

And somehow, just... fits.

Tony is breathing hard, ragged, next to him. He makes a high noise of fear, and clamps his hand over his mouth. 

"Tony," Steve whispers "Tony, what is it? Is it the man? Is it the man at the window? Tony? Tony!"

"Shh!" Tony hisses. "No! No! It's the monster, you need to be quiet! Please!"

"I don't underst -- "

He hears footsteps.

Thumping down the hall.

One, two, three.

Tony goes still, breathes deeply, curled tight and silent. Steve closes his eyes, and wraps his arms around him. Pulls him tight.

The footsteps get closer.

A grunt. A smash. Glass, hitting the wall. Tony jerks, and buries his head in Steve's shoulder.

"Tony," Steve breathes, barely audible "what is it?"

Tony curls closer, and outside, the thumping stops.

He feels Tony hold his breath.

There's the sound of crackling glass as whatever it is shifts. The sound of heavy breathing, laboured breathing. A grunt, and then a 'thunk' where it collides with the wall, the vibrations tangible from where Steve and Tony lie, hidden.

Tony doesn't move, doesn't make a sound, and the monster stops outside his door.

A hand, twisting the doorknob.

A second goes by. Two. Three.

More and more time passes.

"Tony," Steve whispers "Tony I think it's gone."

"No!" Tony gasps, and the handle turns, the door ripped open, Tony burying himself against Steve's chest in silent fear. From under the bed, Steve can only make out shoes, heavy boots. The thing growls softly, and Steve realises it's a man.

It's a man, and a bottle rolls onto the floor. 

Under the bed.

Stops, when it hits Steve's knee.

The man kneels, gruff. His hands come scrabbling over the wooden floor, and Steve closes his eyes, holds his breath, counts to ten and hopes he just goes away, but he doesn't. His hands keep moving, dangerously close to where Tony lies, and Steve has to freeze, carefully, torturously slowly, inch the bottle with his knee enough that it rolls into the man's thick and heavy hands.

The man freezes. His hand finds the bottle.

And then he grunts. Stands. The glass he carried in with him crackles, and then he's gone.

Tony breathes. Deep, deep breaths, gasping breaths, in and out. He wiggles his way forward, out from under the bed, and kneels, waiting for Steve. "What was that." Steve asks, inching out "Who was that?"

"The monster." Tony says, suddenly matter of fact. "It's okay. He's gone now. We can sleep."

"Sleep?" Steve says, and Tony is just wearing nightclothes, like that, in a blink of an eye, and climbing under the covers of the bed.

He nods. "You can sleep after the monster goes, it's okay."

Steve shakes his head, and draws up a chair. "Tony." He says urgently "Listen to me. We need to get out of here, understand? I know you're in there, somewhere. Tony, it's me. It's Steve. Tiberius locked you in here, but you can get out. You can get out, if you try."

Tony looks at him, a little irritated. "Are you gonna read me a story?"

Steve blinks. "Read you, read you a story." He answers, flatly.

"It's bedtime." Tony says, and he lifts books from the bedside table, throws them on the bed. "That means it's time for a story."

"A... story."

"Yes." Tony says, exasperated. "I like the Emperor's New Clothes."

Slowly, Steve shuffles through the books. "Do you really."

Tony nods. "It's funniest." He frowns. "Funnier? More fun than the others."

"The most fun." Steve corrects automatically, turning to the first page. "You just want me to read?"

"Can you do the accents and stuff? Jarvis does the accents."

Steve stares. "Tony," he says quietly "who's Jarvis?"

"I like the king's advisor best," Tony continues "because he's the stupidest. More stupid? Stupider. I don't know."

"The most stupid," Steve says "Tony, who's Jarvis?"

Tony blinks. "Huh?"

"You said, you said Jarvis did the accents."

Tony's little face looks affronted. "No I didn't."

"Yes you did."

"Didn't."

"Did."

"Didn't."

"Di -- okay. Fine. One story, and then do you promise to listen to what I'm saying?"

Tony grins. "Promise." He says. "I've never had guests before. Normally I read to myself."

"Oh." Is all Steve says, voice sad. "Shall I start?"

Tony grins and squirms with excitement. "Yes!"

Steve raises his eyebrow, shakes his head, incredulous. "Once upon a time," he begins.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> late posting because I was out. Happy christmas eve! Or at least it's christmas eve for me. Ten minutes part chirstmas eve. Ten bpast 12? anyway rnjoy


	122. Chapter 122

Tony sleeps before Steve can ask him anything else.

Steve spends the night in the chair. He doesn't tire at all, his body not working like it should. He wonders about things, about Tony's childlike state, about the monster, about the man at the window. This strange world Tony's built for himself.

Tony wakes up as soon as light starts to stream through the windows. Honestly, he couldn't have been sleeping for more than an hour, but time doesn't seem to follow linear lines here. Outside, clouds have gathered, more than the one on the horizon yesterday. Now, heavy grey lines streak the sky, stagnated and unmoving, blocking out the pure yellow lines of light.

Tony presses his hands to the window. "That's never happened before." He says, concerned.

"Maybe the weather's changing."

Tony shakes his head. "I don't like it."

"Just a bit of rain coming. Nothing to be afraid of."

Tony bites his lip, turns. "Do you want breakfast?"

Steve blinks. "Breakfast?"

 

They head down into the kitchen, the same place Steve had heard the footsteps go yesterday. Tony climbs onto one of the stools in front of the island and settles down in front of a loaded plate of eggs and toast. Steve stares. "How -- "

"The ghost makes it." Tony says, tucking in. 

"The ghost."

Tony nods, mouth full. "Uh huh. He makes the food and tidies up the mess. He keeps the monster away in the day."

"But not at night?"

Tony shakes his head. "He can't be with me at night."

Steve nods. "I see." Carefully, he takes his place at the table. "Tony," he says, slowly. "Do you know who I am?"

"You're Steve?"

"Right. But -- " Steve makes a frustrated noise "but beyond that. Who am I."

Tony stares at him. "You're... you? You're Steve. I -- sorry. I don't understand."

"Who's Tiberius Stone?"

Tony shakes his head and shrugs. 

"Why are you here, Tony? Where are your parents? Don't you go to school?"

Tony's brow furrows. "I -- " he starts "I don't -- stop that."

"You know something's wrong, right? Something feels wrong."

"Nothing's wrong." Little Tony snaps. "Everything's cool Everything's fine. You're just being -- "

There's a slam, and then the man at the window is pressing up against the glass door. He pushes, presses, fingers scrabbling against the pane, and Tony jerks. "Stay back!" he says "Stay back! Go away, go away!"

The clouds outside are swirling, no longer streaked but thick and heavy and dark, covering the sky. Tony screams again "Go away! Go away!" And there's a low rumble of thunder somewhere far away.

"Tony what is that." Steve growls, jumping to his feet, aiming his gun at the door. The figure presses closer, and Tony screams.

" _Go away!"_ He manages, with force, and man seems to flicker, and then go. Tony cries, holding onto Steve. "It's not fair." He sobs. "It's not fair."

"What's not fair, Tony? Tell me, what's not fair?"

Tony doesn't say anything else, just cries, and Steve lifts him up, sets him on his hip and moves up the stairs to the living room. "It's okay." Steve soothes. "We can shut the windows. We'll be safe."

"It's gonna rain." Tony sobs. "I dunno what's happening. It's never happened like this before."

"Shh," Steve soothes "it's okay. It's okay. You're okay, Tony. You're okay."

" _Get me out of here."_ Tony whispers, and that's not little Tony, that's his Tony, he hears his Tony's voice and he stands, spins, tries to find the source because he'd been so sure it had been whispered in his ear. 

"What was that?" Steve asks "Tony? Tony are you here? Are you there? Please, answer. Tony. Tony!"

"What is it?" Little Tony sniffles, rubbing his nose.

"Did you hear that?" Steve barks. "Someone said 'get me out of here'. Was that you? Tony?"

Little Tony shrugs. "It was probably just a ghost."

"Just a..." Steve shakes his head. "What ghosts? What are you talking about?"

Tony goes quiet, fiddles with the hem of his shirt. He shrugs. 

Steve can't take this anymore. He just scoops him up into his arms. "We're leaving." He says.

Tony kicks at him. "No!" He shrieks "No! No! No! I don't want to! I don't want to!"

"I'm sorry, Tony." Steve says, pressing his little head down onto his shoulder "But you need to leave. I need to get you out of here, understand? This isn't real. None of this is real."

"It's not safe!" Tony wails "Please! Please! It's not safe!"

"I can protect you."

"You can't." Tony sobs, banging his fists against Steve's back. "You can't."

"I can." He grits, and he starts to kick the front door, over and over and over. "There has to be a way of getting out. There has to."

Tony is crying and thunder rumble overhead. It starts to rain, heavy, and Steve hears it cracking against the wood of the door.

"You can't." Tony bawls. "Please stop. Please, Steve."

"It's okay, Tony. It's okay. Trust me."

Tony curls his head into Steve's shoulder, holds on tight while Steve thumps against the door again and again and again.

And then there's a flash of light; Steve is thrown back, Tony in his arms, skidding across the mahogany floor. He blinks blearily up at the ceiling, trying to comprehend what's happening while Tony disentangles himself from his grasp.

"It's her." He whispers, awed. "Look, Steve, it's her."

Steve raises his head and makes out the blurry shape of a woman, wearing a yellow sundress. Her hair is flared and she's got a red necktie. Her lipstick is bright shade of pink. She's barefoot, and over it all, she wears a robe, a night robe, soft and well-worn.

She stares at him, imperiously. " _Non."_ She says, hand blocking the door.

"Please." Steve says, pushing up. "I need to get him out of here."

Maria's eyes slide from Tony to Steve and she tilts her head, curious. "Anthony." She says, taking a step forward, arm outstretched. And then she pauses. "You can't leave."

Steve turns to Tony. "You can make her go away. I know you can."

Tony blinks. "Go away? I want her to stay."

"Tony, she's stopping us from leaving."

"We don't have to leave." Tony stresses "We can stay here. It's good here. We have the ghost, and we have mom and I have you."

"Mom?" Steve says "You know this is your mom?"

Tony nods. "She only comes sometimes. She changes. But she's in a good mood now, so it's okay."

"What happens when she's in a bad mood?"

Tony's face falls. "Nothing. She doesn't do anything at all."

"Okay," Steve mutters "fine. Mrs Stark? Mrs Stark. We need to leave, understand? And I can't have you stopping us."

See, this is Tony's head. And right now, Tony thinks he's a scared little boy. But all these other things, his mom, the monster, the ghost, the man at the window, these are all... extensions, of his consciousness, right? So maybe, if he can convince Maria to let them go, Tony will accept it.

"You can't leave." Maria says. "And the monster won't let you, in any case."

"The monster?"

"He guards this door at night."

"What about downstairs? What about your dayroom?"

"He guards them, too."

"How is that possible?"

"How is anything possible?" Maria replies, with a sardonic smile. Her eyes slip back to Tony. "It's bad for him to leave."

"I don't think it is," Steve says "I think we're in Tony's head, and you're being controlled by Tony. And Tony doesn't want to leave, so he's created the monster, and he's created you, and he's not going to let himself go."

Tony huddles behind Steve's leg. "It's getting dark." He murmurs.

"It's not," Steve says "that's just the sky. It's blocking out the sun. Mrs Stark, we -- "

"No!" Tony says, panicked "We need to hide! He comes out in the dark!"

Outside, the wind is picking up. The rain batters mercilessly against the glass.

And from the workshop stairs comes a thumping.

Tony screams and runs, Maria ushering both of them into the living room. "Stay down," she hisses " _stay down."_

"I'm scared." Tony whispers against Steve's shirt. "Nothing's going right. Nothing's going right. It's not supposed to be this way."

"Shh," Steve says, and he pushes them behind a curtain "it's okay. Just be quiet, and he'll go away."

The window is freezing at Steve's back, the wind whipping rain so hard he can't see past the first few rows of corn. The sky is a dark black with cloud, heavy and thick, lightning flashes, thunder rolls, and Tony buries himself as close as he can.

The thumping stops as the monster enters the living room. There's a grunt, and he picks at the bottles on the table.

"No," Maria says "no more, today."

The monster grunts again, the bottle smashing onto the floor. He says something, inaudible, and Maria hisses.

"You won't touch him, understand? You're drunk. Yes, I know. Don't be pathetic. _Don't be pathetic."_

Another bottle; this one smacks on the wall above their heads.

"Go away go away go away." Tony whispers, a mantra. "Go away go away go away."

And then, as if it wasn't enough, the man appears at the window, close, so fucking close, and presses his hands against the pane, tries to press his way into the house. Tony screams, loud, and the smashing of bottles stop.

"Tony," Steve says, struggling to control his own voice "Tony he heard you."

"Don't, _mio caro._ Don't. Leave him alone."

"Go away go away go away." Tony continues to murmur, eyes shut tight against the banging from the window and the footsteps on the floor.

"Tony, we need to leave."

"Go away." Tony says again, louder. "Go away, go away, _go away."_

The wind outside presses the man flat against the window, his fists banging in a desperate attempt to come inside. He's trying to hide, Steve realises, trying to escape the brutal elements.

"Go away," Tony says, voice firm "go away, go away, go away!"

"Tony, we need to go _now."_

Tony tackles the shape behind the curtain, roars, and the whole length of fabric falls down with them. It covers the monster underneath and he screams, little fists pummelling at it's face, it's body, while Maria holds onto the fireplace for support.

"Go," she says "stop, enough. Anthony, you're out of time. Time to go."

Tony roars, thrashing as Steve tries to pick him up. "She's right," he says "it's time to leave."

"No!" Tony cries "No! Don't make me! Please don't make me! I'll be good! Don't make me go!"

The rain beats against the window and the figure smashes it's fists against the glass. It's not safe, not anymore. It's time to go. Just as the glass smashes, the entire roof of the house lifts, spun away by the wind. Steve pulls Tony down, huddles on the ground."

"Come on, Tony." He grits.

"Mom?" Tony cries, poking up his head. "Mom?! Where is she? Where did she go!?"

"No time, kid." Steve huffs, tucking Tony under his arm as the wind rips apart the house. Wood goes flying, bricks, books, bottles. The remains are spinning around them, couches and chairs and --

"What is that?" Steve screams, pointing to the sky "Tony, make it stop!"

"Wormhole." Tony grits, and suddenly he's not a kid anymore, not at all. It's Tony, his Tony, and he's holding out an arm, bracing against the hurricane strength of the winds, just them in an empty cornfield, the house spun away, and a wormhole in the sky tinged blue at the edges.

"Tony," Steve gasps, and he tugs him close. "Oh my God. Oh my god, you're here. You're here. We need to get out, okay? I'm going to get you out."

"Oh yeah?" Tony says, sardonic, face stretched with the force of the air "And exactly how do you figure that?"

"Wake up." Steve demands.

"If it was that simple, I think I would have done it already, don't you?"

Steve looks up into the sky, at the gaping hole at the dark behind it. "What is that?"

"I told you." Tony says calmly. "Wormhole."

"This is your head, Tony," Steve grits "turn it off."

"This isn't so much my head as -- " Tony frowns "I can't control it."

"Well you have to do something!" Steve screams over the wind "Tony, you can die!"

"I can die." Tony repeats, factually. "Yeah. I can die. That's strange."

The sky is falling apart. Cloud are ripped into the hole, blue and grey swirling together. The entire scene is disintegrating.

"Tony you have to wake up." Steve pleads. "Come on. This isn't you. Hiding, this isn't you. You need to wake up."

"Hiding," Tony mutters "I'm just a coward."

"You're not." Steve says fiercely. "I swear, you're fucking not. And I was wrong to say that, I was wrong and stupid, okay? You're not a coward, you're," Steve swallows "you're the bravest man I've ever met."

Tony's eyes slip close, only to flutter open again. He seems oblivious to the carnage around them. "Search for me."

"What?"

"I have to go. This is always how it ends. You need to search for me. Maybe we can get out." He looks straight at Steve. "You'll find me. I won't remember you. I might be younger than I am now. There may be people around me. Sometimes, it'll be dangerous." Tony stares back at the sky. "Work your way through. If you can reach the end of me, maybe I'll break out."

"What?" Steve pants. "Tony, what does that mean?!"

"The sky," he says, looking at the wormhole. "I can't -- " Tony's face crumples. "I don't want to go. I want to stay. With you."

Steve takes Tony's hand. "Then stay."

Tony shakes his head, swallows. "Find me." He says. "We can get out. I swear. Keep reminding me, keep showing me. I'll remember. I will remember you, Steve."

"This doesn't make sense." Steve says, taking Tony's cheeks. "What's happening?" He whispers, voice hoarse.

Everything goes silent, a high ringing in his ears. He can no longer feel the wind, feel the corn around his legs. Tony's shape starts to blur. Steve holds on.

Before Steve closes his eyes he sees the dark figure, the man at the window. His shape flickers, intoTonyand then into shadow, until eventually they are one and the same.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY CHRISTMAS EVE TA-DA idk if there'll be a chapter tomorrow bc it seems like i'm desecrating christmas to upload one but there we go. Idk how long stebe's trip through Tony's mind palace is gonna be but probably awhile. I HAVE SO MANY SCENARIOS I WANT TO WORK THROUGH omg it'll be fab *choo choo* angst train leaves the fucking station *chugga chugga*


	123. Chapter 123

Streaks of code running past Steve's face, lines and lines of it. It's him, and Tony, and they're standing in an endless universe of rushing code.

"Tony!" He gasps "Tony!" Because this is his Tony, again, older and wearing a fraying sweatshirt and pants. He's kneeling and looks up only when Steve says his name. He blinks. "Steve?"

"Yeah," Steve says "it's me. It's me. Tony, we need to leave. You need to wake up."

"How did you get here?" Tony asks, looking left and right. "Steve, how -- "

"They hooked me up. The team. We're all waiting for you, Tony, we all need you to wake up."

"Not inside my head, in here. How did you get here?"

Steve looks around. "The code?" He says "I -- I don't know."

"Fine," Tony snaps "fine. Listen to me, I can't break through, okay? I'm stuck here."

"But," Steve's brow furrows "you were with me before. At the mansion, with the wormhole."

Tony's face grows pained. "I don't remember. There are times I can crack through, understand? When, when I'm weakened. You need to keep making me see. You need to make me understand. I'm not aware of what I'm doing in here, Steve. This place," he gestures with his hand "as soon as you go away, I forget it exists. It's complicated."

"This isn't real."

Tony smiles wryly. "No shit none of this is real. I know that, now. But I only know it when I'm with you, okay? I don't know," Tony looks around him, at the streams of code "I don't know why, or what's happening. The subconscious is a strange place."

"How do I get you out?"

"I'm stuck." Tony sighs, placing his hands on his hips. "Can't get out of here. I need to be able to break through to whatever it is you're seeing, but my mind is playing tricks on me."

Steve shakes his head. "Tony, I don't understand."

"If I want to get out, I need to be where you are, understand? If you wanted to, you could just... will yourself awake. I can't. I'm in deep. This," he gestures around "this is about as deep as you can go. This code, these green lines. They're my memories. Everything that makes me, me, packaged down into 1s and 0s."

"And if you want to be able to will yourself awake, you need to be with we me." Steve says, half understanding. "You need to be less deep. Where your physical memories are playing out, what I'm seeing, with the halls, and the, the monster, and the man at the window."

"Exactly. So like, you said I was at the mansion? You must have convinced me to break out, allowing me to leave here and join you. Steve, wherever you go, just keep forcing me to see, okay? Keep forcing me to understand. Eventually, it might even stick, and I'll remember. And I'll wake up."

"You forget." Steve says "As soon as I disappear, you'll forget this."

"Yeah." Tony says softly. "Sorry."

Steve steps closer. "Tiberius." He whispers. "Where did he go?"

Tony looks away. "He left."

"Why?"

Tony rests his hand on Steve's shoulder, squeezes. His eyes narrow.

He steps back. "No." He mutters. "No."

Tony paces away, leaving Steve to run after him. "Hey," he soothes "hey, what's wrong."

Tony spins. "Nothing." He bites out. "Nothing."

He repeats it, calmer. "Sorry." He says. "I didn't -- how long have I been away for."

"A week, give or take."

Tony stares. "A week." He says. "A week. It felt like -- like a lifetime."

"It's nearly over." Steve reassures, and he takes Tony's shoulder. "I swear, it's nearly over. I'll get you out. I managed to break you through before, I can do it again. Just you watch."

Tony's head falls forward, his eyes close. He smirks against Steve's lips. "I don't want you to go." He murmurs.

Steve cups the back of his head; presses a soft kiss to his lips. "Nearly there." He promises. "We're so close. And then you get to come home. Safe, with me."

"Can we take a holiday?"

Steve presses a kiss to Tony's forehead, takes his hands in his. "Yeah," he says "we can do that. A long break. Let the other's finish off HYDRA. Somewhere hot."

"The Maldives."

"You want to go to the Maldives, I'll take you to the Maldives." Steve grins. "Just for you."

Tony smiles, face twisting. "Make me understand." He says. "Break whatever it is holding me back. Every time you make me see, I can crack through."

"What happens after that?" Steve says "I make you see, you join me in the memory. How do you wake up?"

Tony shakes his head. "I don't know. Keep pushing. Keep drawing me out. We'll make it up as we go along -- oh come on, don't give me that look."

"I love you, Tony." Steve says. "I love you. I want you home, with me. I want you safe."

Tony looks at him, eyes so sad. "Yeah," he says "yeah. I love you t -- "

 

Steve wakes up with a headache.

Actually wakes up. As in, he opens his eyes, and Natasha is staring down at him.

"Is this real?" He croaks.

"I hope so." Natasha says, offering her hand. She tugs him up into a sitting position and he looks around, eyes blurry. 

"Where am I?" He says, voice sounding hoarse in his ears. "Where's Tony? Tony? Tony? Is he awake? Is he -- "

"Relax." Natasha says. "Relax. We brought you back up, okay, you were going too deep. We almost couldn't drag you back."

The code. The centre, the green lines of code. That's in deep. That's as deep as you can get.

"Tony was there." He gasps, trying to set his feet on the floor "Tony was -- "

Tony is beside him, on the bed. They've been moved, somehow, the whole DreamVision has been moved to the tower, and they're both lying on soft beds. Tony's whole body is slack, he's pale. His heart beat is stuttering.

"Is he," Steve swallows "is he okay?"

"He's stable. Not healthy, but stable. Your heart-rates kept accelerating. What were you seeing?"

Steve shakes his head. "Nothing makes sense in there."

"Easy," Clint says, joining them "drink, Cap."

He hands Steve water and a plate of simple food. "Take a break," Natasha says "shower. Get your bearings, then go back in."

Steve swallows the freezing liquid. "Tony doesn't have that luxury."

"Tony will still be there when you get back." Natasha says, pushing her hand through his hair. "Take an hour. Remember who you really are."

Steve shakes his head, turns to look at Tony. "You have no idea," he murmurs "you have no idea what it's like in there."

"What's it like?" Someone asks, and Steve realises it's Whitney, seated behind the computers they've linked up to DreamVision.

Steve stares at her. "Nothing makes sense."

"The mind is a strange place."

Steve swallows. "He says he's stuck. Imagine two levels, right? And I'm on the first one. The first level is memories and feelings and people. And that's where I am, interacting with what Tony's imagining. And Tony's down on the second level. And he can't get out. So in order to get out, he needs to break through to the first level."

"I see."

"And... and his subconscious is strange. It's full of, of monsters, and dark, and wormholes. I've said it before, but nothing makes sense. I can't comprehend anything."

Natasha keeps threading her hand through his hair, scratching his scalp. He realises he's shivering, shuddering. When was the last time he shook like this?

"Have you seen any," Whitney frowns "memories. Any real memories. Are you interacting with him? Or are you seeing old things?"

Steve shakes his head. "It's, I don't know. Maybe it was based off a memory. Maybe."

"What happened." Clint asks quietly.

Steve looks up. He looks at Tony. "It doesn't seem fair to say. It's like, an invasion of privacy. But we were are his old mansion. He was a kid. There was a monster. I'm not sure how we got out. I think Tony took it down. And then he was normal again, you know, he was normal Tony. There was a wormhole? I can't -- it's patchy." Steve frowns. "I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, we were in deep. The second level. It's almost like the hardrive, you know? And Tony was there. He didn't remember what had happened, and I couldn't get much else out from him. But I know what I need to do."

Steve swings his legs over the bed, braces himself to stand. Natasha places a hand on his shoulder. "Wait," she says "give it time."

"No." Steve says. "I'll eat. And then I'm going straight back in."

Clint and Nat share a look that Steve is not privy to. And then they nod. "Fine." She says. "Fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope u guys had a fab christmas!!! happy boxing day if you're in the UK!! happy day-after-christmas is you're not!!
> 
> i wouldn't normally ask this, at all, but basically i have to go somewhere i hate tonight (which is why i'm posting earlier) and i'm dreading it with every fibre of my being, so could you guys just comment? literally anything. I get so excited when i get an email saying someone's commented!! it's amazing!! best feeling!! ever!! u can literally just say 'they crave that mineral' and i get so pumped u have no idea.
> 
> anyway pls wish me luck. Ugh. Holy fuck.


	124. Chapter 124

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning's for not-so graphic descriptions of violence but also pretty violent violence involving an axe and parents

This time, when Steve goes under, something's changed.

The air around him is foggy, misty. Steve stands, facing the mansion, Stark mansion, except this time he can hear traffic from the street, can feel the wind. He steps forward, and white mist shudders around him, forming trees, gravel, embellishments on the oak front doors. 

_Buffering,_ Steve's mind supplies. The scene is loading, the fog filling in cracks, and hanging around in case anything else needs fixing.

"Tony?" Steve calls, moving to the front door. "Tony, you in here?" He tries it, and it's locked. Frowning, he turns, moves back to the driveway. Maybe round the back?

"Tony!" He says again "It's Steve! Do you remember me? I was here, remember? Tony?"

Steve leans back, stares up at the upstairs windows. It's cold, he realises. The trees have lost their leaves, and there's ice on the ground.

"Tony." Steve mutters again. "Where the -- "

He hears the screech of wheels and crack of gravel and turns just in time to see the car that runs him over.

Or is supposed to, at least. It goes straight through him. He feels nothing, not even a swooping sensation in his belly, as the entire interior of the vehicles passes through him like he's nothing, which, technically, he is.

He stumbles back, mainly from the shock of it, and watches Tony leave the car. He's young, anywhere between eighteen to twenty-one, and the car is bright red. Steve can't remember the brand, but it looks pretty fancy. Top of the range for it's time.

And then Howard gets out the other side.

The sight jars him; Tony never mentioned family rides with his father. He pops the trunk and pulls out a duffel bag. Howard rubs the back of his hand over his eyes.

Tony fiddles with the strap. "I'm gonna unpack." He says, looking studiously anywhere but his father.

"You do that." Howard grunts, and he slams the door behind him, wincing as he stretches his back. Tony hops up the steps to the door two at a time and Steve follows, vaguely aware that behind him, the scene turns to white mist.

"Tony," he hisses "Tony. Can you hear me? Do you see me? It's Steve."

He stands in front of the doorway to a room and Tony passes right through him. Apparently, this is non-interaction. Steve curses. He never should have left the simulation. 

Tony un-zips the bag, tosses things onto the bed. The decor of the room looks like it hasn't been updated since he was a child; there are clowns decorating the wallpaper, and the bed is small. Tony sighs, slumps on the mattress, and thumbs through a book. Then he puts it down, rubs his eyes, and leaves.

Steve follows.

Tony heads down, into the main hall, and then down the stairs that lead to the kitchen. He's humming slightly, under his breath. "Jarvis?" He calls "J? You down here?"

Steve nearly runs into Tony where he stops, abruptly. Not that it would have mattered. There's a man in the kitchen, and he's slicing carrots. But it's not Jarvis, apparently, because when Tony asks him of the other man's whereabouts he holds out his hand and says 'call me John'.

Tony spins, running through Steve, and this time he gets a strange shiver, all the way down his spine. "Tony." He tries, attempting to get his attention "Can you hear me?"

Tony's feet pound up the stairs as he rounds the banister to run up to the top floor. He takes off down a corridor, one Steve's never been down, and pounds on the door. "Jarvis?" He says, breathless "Jarvis?"

When there's no response, he twists open the doorknob and shoulders open the door, throwing it free and staring.

The room is mostly empty. A bed with no sheets, furniture covered in white tarp. Tony steps in, almost as if to find something he maybe missed, and Steve sees --

Oh, God, that must hurt. It must really fucking hurt to come home and find -- 

Tony's fist collides with a wall. He kicks a cupboard, repeatedly, the wood denting. He bites his lip, to keep from screaming, and then smashes his palms down onto the top of a chest of drawers. Over and over and over, shaking with the force of keeping down his voice.

"Tony," he tries to soothe, tries to take his shoulders, ease him down, but he's nothing, he can't be heard or seen, and Tony continue to wreck the furniture. "Tony," he says "I know you're angry but this isn't real. This is nothing. This isn't -- "

It's a dream, of course. None of it's real. Which explain why Tony now has, without any such object being in the close vicinity, an axe in his hands.

He swings. Steve steps back, on instinct, and it buries itself into the wall. Steve blinks, and Tony wrenches it free.

_"WHAT DID I DO?"_ He screams " _WHAT DID I DO TO YOU? WHAT DID I EVER DO?"_

"Tony, honey," Maria says, standing in the door. "Don't wake your father up, honey. Honey, he's ill. Honey, keep your voice down."

Tony swings the axe, and it splinters wood. Tony swings the axe, and it finds the wall. Tony swings the axe -- 

And Steve has to just his eyes and duck when the blood hits him.

Tony is screaming and crying and Steve follows, numb, stepping over the body. There's blood staining his face, flecks of it, and when Steve catches his reflection in the mirror -- 

There's blood on him, too.

"Tony!" He shouts, and reaches for him "Tony, it's me. It's Steve. You need to stop this. Stop this, Tony it isn't real, understand? That was your mother. You just -- Tony, it was your mother."

Tony stares at him, eyes wild, and then turns, as if he never saw him in the first place. "HOWARD!" He cries out "WHERE ARE YOU YOU BASTARD!"

He doesn't just open the door to the study, he cracks it open with his axe. "Tony," Howard says "behave yourself, boy."

"Where is he?" Tony hisses as his father stands behind the desk "Where did he go?"

"Now, Tony, be reasonable. There are just somethings we can't tell you. You're only -- "

"Like Jarvis, Dad," Tony grits, shoulders heaving "like, like SHIELD? You gonna tell me about SHIELD? HYDRA? Obie? When were you going to tell me, Dad. When was that going to _cross your mind."_

Howard makes a face of distaste. "You're bloody." He says dismissively. "That's disgusting."

"I'm talking to you," Tony says "don't walk away. I'm _talking to you."_

Howard flicks through some papers on his desk and Tony presses close, pushes his face against Howard's. "I said, _I'm talking to you._ Do you hear me? _Are you even LISTENING? DO YOU EVEN CARE?"_

"Tony," Steve says, quietly. "I'm here. I'm still here."

Maybe Tony hears him, maybe not. But the axe meets Howard's body, anyway. He chokes, rolls to the floor.

"Are you listening now?" Tony hisses, bringing it down again and again "Can you hear me? Are you paying attention? Are you paying attention?"

Howard coughs, blood, hands scrabbling at the floor. Tony kneels, takes his shirt in his hands. "Why did you have to send him away?" He asks, voice broken. Not angry, not scared, just soft, and cracked. "Why? Why? Why would you do that, why -- he was the only good thing, Dad. He was the only good thing. Why would you send him away? Why? Dad? _Dad?"_

Howard's bloody hand reaches up. It tugs lightly through the back of Tony's hair.

He goes still, and Tony slumps, breathing hard.

Steve tries one last time, and he sets his hand on Tony's shoulder.

He looks up; he feels him. Tony looks at him, and --

He's not a young man, anymore. It's his Tony, now. Worn face, drawn, pale. Bloodied. He frowns at him.

"Steve?" He croaks. "What -- "

He looks down at Howard's broken body. Blinks.

"Oh, God." He moans. "Oh, God. Oh, oh my -- Dad?" He grasps at his father's shirt, shakes. "Dad?" He says again, panicked. "Dad, just -- keep breathing? Keep -- " he tries to cover the worst of the wounds with his hands, the rapidly cooling blood congealing against his skin. "What did I do?" He gasps "What did I -- "

"Tony, this isn't real, do you understand?"

"Steve?" Tony says, and he shakes his head, looks back at his father. "What are you doing here? Where am I? Steve where am I? Why -- why did I do this, what -- "

"Shh," Steve says, and he takes Tony's bloody cheeks in his hands. "Ignore him, don't look -- hey, hey, look at me. Don't look at that."

Tony trembles beneath his fingers. His hand clasps Steve's where it rests on his cheek. "What did I do?" He asks. "Where is this? Steve?"

"You're in DreamVision, understand? Tiberius Stone has locked you inside a virtual simulation and I'm trying to get you out. We're all waiting for you. The whole team is waiting for you."

Tony shudders. "I killed him, Steve, why -- Dad? Dad. Wake up -- if this is a dream why can't I wake him up?"

Steve tilts Tony's head back to face him. "Remember me." He says. "Focus on me."

"Why?' Tony whispers "What's happening."

"Just look at me." Steve says. "Can you wake up? Can you do it?"

Tony begins to shudder. "I," he chokes "I can't. Steve, this is real. This is real, I can't wake up. I can't. We need to get out. I just murdered -- "

"Was I alive when your were eighteen? Tony? Tony, answer me."

Tony stares. "Yes? Yes. Steve, I don't understand, you're here, and I've killed my -- "

"But it isn't real."

"How is this not real!" Tony cries. "What are you talking about? I don't, I don't remember, I can't -- "

"You're confused, and that's okay. Just focus. Repeat after me. My name is Tony."

"My name is Tony."

"Steve is my partner."

"Steve is my partner."

"This is not real."

"This is not real."

"Say it again."

"What?" Tony says "All of it? You -- "

"Do it."

"This is not real."

"Why not?"

"Because," Tony falters "because Tiberius Stone locked me, locked me in a virtual simulation called DreamVision."

Steve nods. "Remember that. Hold onto that."

Tony's eyes widen. "Steve," he says "where are we?"

Steve looks around. Definitely not in Howard's study anymore. When Steve blinks, the blood has gone from Tony's face.

Desert. Desert all around them. Steve stands, and helps draw Tony to his feet. "I don't know." He murmurs. "You tell me."

Tony squints against the sun and the sand. Steve swallows, and his mouth already feels dry. "Maybe," Tony says uncertainly "maybe this is the way out."

"Maybe." Steve agrees. "Yeah."

He doesn't hold much hope. They begin to walk. They walk, and walk, and walk. Steve tests Tony, reminds him that 'this is not real' until it's a mantra, and they're both saying it under their breaths.

Steve knows they can't die, really. But they won't last long out here.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk if this is out of character or not. The thing about this story is that it attempts to portray the characters -- and I say characters, basically mainly Tony -- in a rounded out light. And there will never not be a point in someone's life where they want to act extremely violently because they just get SO MAD. And in Tony's perspective, his parent's never really bothered with him, and that hurt and all, but he got on with it because he had Jarvis and what did his parents matter anyway? But then his parents take Jarvis away and they don't think to tell him. I can't really think of an equivalent relationship, but I guess if my mother disappeared and no one bothered to tell me where she was, and didn't even THINK to mention her disappearance (either because I was beneath their notice or they just didn't want to) I would probably be mad, too. I guess the whole point of the story is to show sides of people that you don't get in the films. Like, whether you like it or not your parents will inevitably have a massive impact on your life, and there's not exactly time to show that when you're flying around in a metal suit. What am I trying to say? I don't know exactly. Just that if it seems out of character, and this goes for everything in this story, it's because I'm trying to portray Tony as a real human being, with real interests and dislikes and issues that have real starting points.
> 
> That being said, yesterday was eh. I have another thing on monday, and then a dreaded one on new years eve, and then another on the third. This season has really just not been my season.
> 
> And then I go back to school. Ugh.


	125. Chapter 125

They walk for hours. Hours turn into days. Days feel like they're stretching into weeks.

Eventually, they both fall. Tony first, unable to walk any further, and Steve supports him, holds him up. Until his own feet give out.

It's never dark here. It never turns to night. Steve is giving up hope when the helicopter flies overhead.

"Hey!" He croaks "Hey!" 

It occurs to him that maybe it can't see him. He jars Tony, sets them both on their feet. "Shout." He prompts.

Tony stands at the top of the dune. "Hey!" He screams, waving his arm in the air "Hey! Over here! Hey!" 

The coptor doesn't stop. Tony breaks into a run, sweat beading down his face, and falls down the dune, Steve stumbling after. "Tony!" He shouts "Are you okay?"

He's on his knees, breathing heavily. He looks up. "It didn't stop." He says. "It didn't stop. Rhodey. Rhodey was on there. And it didn't stop. Steve, I'm going to die out here. I'm going to die. Help me, I'm going to die."

"Remember what I said."

Tony takes a deep breath in. "This isn't real." He says "This isn't real. This isn't real." He pauses. "If this isn't real, what is it?"

"Your... imagination."

"Imagination?" Tony croaks. "No. No these are my dreams. I've done this before."

Steve frowns. "What?"

Tony turns. "Any minute now," he murmurs "Raza's men are going to appear over that dune and take me away. I've done this before."

Steve takes his hands, pulls him up. "Then don't let them." He says, vehemently. "These are your dreams, your memories. You can do what you want with them."

"No," Tony says "and that's the problem. I can't. I can't control them, can I? Because if I could, I could break out."

In the distance, sand begins to rise, spurred by wheels and hot air. "They're coming," Steve says "Tony, they're coming."

"We need to run."

"No," Steve says "you need to stay. That's how you face it. That's how this works. We need to take them down."

Tony wrenches free. "No," he says "stop it. Just fucking stop it. This isn't your head, you can't make me -- if we run, we can get away."

"Run where?" Steve says frantically, gesturing with his hands "There's nowhere! Tony! Come on!"

"Don't talk to me like that." Tony growls. "You say we're in a dream well I don't fucking believe you, okay? I think you're crazy."

"Tony -- "

"No!"

The sands rises up, pushing Steve away, catching in his eyes, his mouth, his tongue. "Tony," he says against the force of it, arms up, bracing "Tony come back!"

The sound of an engine, and groaning. Distantly, Steve makes out dark figures and a curled lump between them, being dragged away. "Tony!" Steve screams "Wake up! It'll end! Just wake up!"

 

Then, Steve is in a hall, sitting on a chair. Tony is on the stage, except this is like nothing he's ever seen before, because there are chains on his wrists, tying him to the podium.

"I d-d-don't," he stammers "th-think, we c-can -- we're t-trying to -- "

People jeer, and someone throws an apple at his head, never mind that no one brings apples to speeches. Tony tries to duck, to pull away, or shield himself, but he can't, arms tight against the stand.

"D-don't," he says "I'm t-t-talking, I'm talking, s-s-stop."

People laugh, and Tony just keeps trying to break away, his wrists rubbed red raw. "We," he starts again "I. You, we, t-t-together -- "

"Tell us about the wormhole!"

Tony swallows, flinching up on his toes "I don't, I can't, it, it isn't a g-g-good, another q-question p-p-please."

"Wormhole!" Someone else shouts "Wormhole! Wormhole! Wormhole!"

And then they're chanting it, over and over. Steve stands. "Tony!" He says "Tony, it's okay! It's me! It's Steve!"

"St-steve?" Tony stutters, blinking. "What, what -- "

"This isn't real." Steve says "Remember what I said? Remember?"

Tony blinks. "I d-d-d-don't -- why are you here? H-how -- "

"REMEMBER!" Steve roars "Remember! This is not real."

"This is n-not," Tony swallows "this is n-n-not real."

"And you have to wake up!"

Tony stares at him. Nods. "Shit," he blurts, and he tugs at the chains "I remember. I remember, fuck, how did I get here? Steve, what's happening?"

"Wake up." Steve says, and the crowd has disappeared, flickered away into nothing "Can you wake up? Try. Do it, Tony."

He shakes his head, still tugging uselessly at the manacles. "I can't get -- ah," he winces as the metal bite into his skin "I can't get free."

Steve starts to tug at the chains, grunting. They won't break, which is impossible, because they're thin, and Steve smashed concrete before. "It has to be you," he pants "you need to be the one to do it."

Tony laughs, brittle. "It's all so pretentious."

"Not pretentious." Steve says, holding Tony's wrist. "This is just how your brain is working, ok? That's fine. We can fix it."

"Fix it." Tony says. "Steve, why can't I remember -- "

"Your head resets. You reset. It's complicated. Do you remember what happened last time?"

"I remember that I need to remember, Jesus fucking Christ, Steve, this place -- "

"It's confusing, I know. Trust me. That's what you need to do."

The doors at the back of the hall swing open, flooding the room with bright, white light. "What is that," Tony says "Steve? Steve cut me loose."

The light is devouring the hall. The chairs, the floor, the walls, it's coming closer and closer.

"I'm sorry, Tony."

"Don't just -- you can't just leave me here! Cut me loose!"

"I can't break the chains," Steve says "but I'm not leaving. I'm right here."

"What happens next?" Tony says, turning his head to shield himself from the light. "Where do we go?"

Steve holds him, presses a hand to the back of his head. "Wherever you take us."

 

White light turns blue, then fades. The room is bright, well lit; Steve looks down at himself, and he's wearing scrubs.

He frowns. "Tony -- "

Oh.

He's on the operating table, tube down his throat, unmoving. His chest is sliced through, his heart beating there while nurses dab away blood, digging carefully though his chest to free the shrapnel, which looses itself and flies up to the magnet above his chest.

His eyes --

Are open. They move, back and forth, wild, pained. He makes a noise at the back of his throat, body spasming as he tries to lift himself up. His arms are spread on either side, his waist covered by a blue blanket, and he is scared.

"Tony," Steve whispers, kneeling at his head. The doctors and nurses pass through him, and Tony's chest rises and falls with barely tamped panic. "It's not real. It's not real, do you remember? It's not real."

Tony screws his eyes shut, face contorting with the pain. "Don't look." Steve commands. "Don't look at it."

Tony's mouth tries to move around the thing in his throat. Steve doesn't know if he can move it, and he doesn't know if it's worth trying. "Do you remember?" He says, gently. "Squeeze my hand. Do you remember?"

Tony's eyes water and his face crumples with the pain. His head tosses on the pillow.

"Hey, it's alright." Steve whispers, and he smiles. "It's okay. Just think of other things, sweetheart. Be somewhere else. Be -- do you remember Christmas? Last Christmas? And Clint put antlers on dog, yeah? That was funny, you laughed. Or," Steve fumbles for memories "that bath we had. And you slipped, and I thought you had broken your neck? Not funny, I know, but you seemed to think so. Or your walks, in the park. In the autumn. I know you love those." 

Steve takes his hand again, presses his lips to the fingers. "There are so many nice places you could be right now, Tony. Just picture them. Imagine them. You can go there, if you want."

Tony chokes, coughing, trying to dislodge the thing in his throat. A hand, weak and trembling, raises and smacks at the ventilator. He gags as he grasps it and drags it forcibly from his throat. He cries out, voice rough, hoarse and broken. "It's okay," he croaks "I remember now. I remember. God, I remember. It can stop."

The staff disappear, but Tony is bleeding out. Steve stares. "What do I do?" He says "Tony? What do I do?"

"Nothing." Tony laughs, voice barely there, bitter. "Let me bleed. That's how it works, right?"

Steve doesn't want to see this. "Does it hurt?" He whispers.

"Like a bitch." Tony gasps, shoulders jerking. "Where -- what happened last time?"

Steve strokes his hair, tries to ease the pain. "Uh, podium. You... you were speaking."

"Oh." Is all Tony says "Okay. Okay. I -- ah, I see. My dreams. These are my dreams."

"Yeah. You said that."

"How do we get out?"

Steve says it. "I don't know."

Tony stares at the ceiling. And then at Steve. "You need to get out."

"What?"

"If I can't get out, you need to leave. If I can't make it, you have to go. Don't wait for me. Don't -- don't waste away."

"I'll get you out."

"But if you don't." Tony presses. "Please. For me. Eventually you need to just let me go. Make it quick. If you can't get me out, don't make me stay here. Please, Steve. It's hell. I can't take another fucking sec -- "

 

Space.

Steve can't see himself at all. He can't move his legs, his arms. He has no form. He simply exists.

He can will himself to move. His consciousness. He sees a chitauri fleet. He sees, below him, New York.

Tony's there. Except he's not in the suit.

Falling. He scrabbles at his throat, reaches out to grab onto empty air. It's not real Steve tries to tell him, but he has no voice.

Tony falls; he doesn't stop. No one saves him. Hulk doesn't catch him. 

These aren't dreams, Steve is finally able to articulate. They're nightmares. And in that moment, he thinks he knows how to make them stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's gonna be a small break, now. Maybe three or four days? Idk. Enough for me to catch up on writing.


	126. Chapter 126

It's driving him insane, just a little.

The constant talking.

Is this what he sounds like to everyone else? Dear fucking God, no wonder people tell him to shut up. He wants to tell himself to shut up. He has, on multiple occasions, but if there's one thing he knows about himself, it's that he isn't great at following orders.

"I'm bored." one of the Tonys say, and Tony called this one 'Mania' because, so far, that's what he seems to be.

"Shove something up your asshole." Another one says, and that would be "Anger", named so because, would you believe, he's a fucking killjoy. All in all, there's five of them. Mania, Downer, Coward, Anger and him. Tony. The real Tony. Not the one who's popped up as a figment of his own tortured imagination.

Down here, in wherever this is, this green coded land, nothing much happens. Steve had appeared, once, and he hasn't been back since, leaving Tony with the four fucking horseman of the apocalypse, or whatever they are. He knows why he's here: Ty had abandoned him. He remembers the things Ty made him see. Sometimes, he's able to see Steve. Steve tells him things about where he is, why he's there. What he was doing before. Tony never remembers the scenarios, he just knows they happen. And that he has to remember that none of this is real.

Down here, in the fucking matrix, it's very easy to remember that nothing's real, because in real life, he's pretty sure there's only one of him. He gets it, it's all existentialist crap, and he's probably having a crisis, because he understands that these guys are supposed to represent his personality. It doesn't make it any easier. The waiting. The constant talking.

Ty left him here, the rat bastard. Tony had been -- well. Let's not think about what Ty was making Tony do when he smiled down at him, tugged a hand through his hair.

"The bitch," he had said thoughtfully "has gone and double crossed me, would you believe. It's a shame, because I was going to let her try you. Did I say stop? Keep working. So I'm going to leave, now. And I want to take you with me. I really do, Anty." He had slid his hand under Tony's chin, pulled up his head. "But there's no way I can take DreamVision with me. And I don't think you're quite ready to behave without it." He had pushed Tony away, onto the floor. "So," he had said "one last ride, for old time's sake, and then I'm going to leave. You know why? Do you? Because if I can't have you, Anty, baby," he had dug his fingers into Tony's skin "then no one can."

"Heeeey," Mania says "Tony number one's having sad thoughts again. This is way you need me, you know? Keep you nice and," he gestures with a hand "up there."

"Shut up." Tony grits, turning, just to be faced with three other identical copies of himself.

"Relax," Anger says, grinning. "He's just pissed off because he knows he's leaving soon, right?"

"That's not funny." Mania snaps. "I'm not going anywhere, right Tony?"

Tony shrugs, eyes sliding to the figure behind Coward, identical to him in every way except there's something not quite right. "You tell me." He answers.

"That's not how it works," Mania sings "we're in your head, Tony. If you feel me slipping, it's up to you to get me back."

"Honestly, I'm kinda grateful for the reprieve."

"You hear that?" Anger snarls, smirking. "He doesn't want you, asshole. He doesn't need you like he needs us, not in here."

"You can all shut up," Tony snaps "none of you are fucking real."

"We're as real as you want us to be." Downer says quietly, from somewhere behind him.

"No one asked you." Tony retorts, ignoring the shivers.

"You know who I kinda want to ask?" Mania grins "Mr Quiet, over there. Hey, Mr Quiet. You got anything to say?"

"G-go -- " Coward swallows "go away."

"Leave him alone." Tony says, offhand, fiddling with a screwdriver that's just appeared in his hands. "He's not like you."

"He's soft." Mania says gently with a hint of bite. "If anything, he should be the first to go."

"None of you are going anywhere," Tony murmurs, distracted by the new object in his hands "so you can stop talking about it."

"Oh, one of us are going." Downer says, softly. "It's not me, and it's not Coward, either. You're not strong enough to get rid of him."

"No one asked your opinion."

"You don't need to, I'll offer it anyway."

Tony rolls his eyes. His psyche is a damaged bastard, he'll give it that. 

He sighs and flips the screwdriver upside down. "Hey," he calls to anger "catch." It's better to give the guy something fun to do, or else he starts threatening the others. It doesn't go well, and usually ends in tears. Or at least, Coward's tears.

"Hey Tony? Is that true? Am I gonna be the first to go?"

Tony has been feeling a weaker connection to Mania recently, but he's chalked it up to more time spent with the others. Can Mania really just disappear? Is that how this works?

"I'm sure you'll be fine."

"He's lying." Anger snaps. "Don't listen to him."

"Tony, I d-don't want t-to -- "

"Shut up shut up." Tony spits. "Just shut up. All of you, for fuck's sake. I don't know, okay? Happy? I don't know how this works anymore than you do."

"Your scared." Anger snarls "I know you are. Look at scaredy pants over there, he's shitting himself. You know Mania's about to leave."

"Good riddance."

"Is it?" Anger laughs "Really? You want to be left with us three? The musketeers? Catch a clue, Tony."

"I wouldn't be so confident," Downer says quietly "you'll all leave before I do."

"But I don't want to go!" Mania wails. "Tony! Stop it! Think happy thoughts!"

"I'm thinking," Tony growls "that you need to shut the fuck up."

Anger laughs. "Oh, go on, Tony. It's been so long since I've had a chance to shine. Let rip."

Tony tamps down whatever is was he was feeling. This place is driving him insane.

He thinks of Steve. Tries to wake up. Shuts out the voices.

When he looks up, Mania has gone.

 

"Wake up," a woman says softly "come on, Steve. Wake up."

Steve's eyes crack open, the light too bright. He groans. "Natasha." He murmurs.

"Easy," Nat says "take it easy. Bruce, pass the water."

"I'm okay." Steve coughs, clearing his throat. "I'm fine. Is Tony -- "

"Still under."

Steve sits up in the bed, looks over to where Tony lies. God, he looks awful. He looks really, really shit. His skin is pale, he's lost weight. "We're trying to feed him," Natasha explains "as well as the IV. It's not working so good."

"They're nightmares." Steve croaks. "The things he's seeing. I've figured it out. He's living out nightmares. Over and over and over. And as soon as one stops, the other begins."

"Ty did that." Whitney murmurs. "He would have done that to him."

"No thanks to you." Steve spits.

Whitney closes her eyes, turns back to the screens. She's tired. There are black circles under her eyes. Her hair is greasy. Natasha must have lent her some clothes, because she's wearing sweatpants and a vest top.

"How long have I been gone?"

"In total? About three days."

"And Tony -- I mean, has there been any change?"

"He talks. In his sleep. You both do. Sometimes his face moves, his heart speeds up."

"What does is say?"

Natasha shrugs. "Hard to tell. 'Stop'. 'Please.' 'Steve.'"

Steve swallows. "What about... does he say 'I remember'?"

"Oh," Clint says, frowning "is that what that was? It's difficult to make out. It's more like 'ma' moo' member'"

"I think it's working." Steve says "I need more time."

"Hey," Natasha soothes "that's okay. We get that. There's still time."

"But how much time is 'still time'?" Steve says "a week? A month? A year? When do you say enough is enough?"

"As long as you want to keep fighting we'll support it."

Steve pauses. "He's -- you know, those are his nightmares. Every second, living them out. Could you imagine that? The thing you fear the most, over and over. The pain, the -- I'll get him out."

"Steve," Clint says quietly "you just focus on what you need to do. Don't think about those other things."

Steve closes his eyes, frowns. "Where's Bucky. Jim."

"They're out. Tracking down Stone."

"Any give?"

"A bit; they found the place they ran to, but it was abandoned. Most likely they're on the move. If there's ever a time to get him, it's now."

"Could Stone fix this?"

"No." Whitney says from her perch. "He couldn't."

"Well then how do we get him out of the nightmare zone?" Natasha asks her "What do we do? There has to be a way."

Whitney just looks unsure. "I don't know." She says.

"It needs to come from him." Steve explains. "The first simulation I saw, Tony was able to make it out by killing the monster. The second by -- " Steve swallows "killing his parents. The third, he couldn't do it completely. Couldn't break the chains. The fourth, he remembered what was happening, but it was too late to stop him from moving on."

"So what?"

"So I think he needs to face his fears."

"That's easier said than done." Clint mutters.

"I know," Steve says "I know that. But they're holding him back. His fears. If I could just convince him to -- to take action."

"You said he killed the -- " Natasha pauses "monsters. Isn't that the same thing?"

"I mean, take real action. Not just get scared and act in self-defence, or get angry put an axe through someone's head."

"What?" Clint spits.

"He needs to actively take charge of what he's doing. And then, I think, he can break through permanently." Steve says. "He needs -- I need some water."

"Here." Natasha says, pushing the glass into his hand. "It's okay."

Steve drinks. "Leave us."

"What?"

"Tony and I. Leave us. For a moment. Please."

Natasha and Clint share a look. And then they beckon to Whitney.

Steve sits there for a few moments. Breathes. Looks at New York, the real New York. This world feels no different from what he's seeing in the DreamVision.

How does he know this is real at all?

He pushes the thought from his head. "Tony." He murmurs, coming to sit at his side. "Tony."

No response. Steve is an old hand at this, sitting by Tony while he sleeps, unknowing. It happened after the crash, and it's happening now.

"I'm... not going to leave you." Steve says, eventually. "I won't. You said that if I can't get you out, I should give up. That's not going to happen. I'm not leaving until you're awake. I promised I would never leave. So here I am." 

Steve pauses, looks down. "I think," he says "I would join you. If I couldn't get you out. Is that stupid? I don't know. Tony, I'm not sure I can live without you anymore. I, I would give up everything to be with you. I told you, didn't I, that -- that it was worth it, just to be with you. That dying and the ice, everything, being here has made it worth it. And you're always getting hurt," Steve clears his throat "I want you to be okay. When you get out of here, we'll take a break. I'm going to make you better. If Ty's hurt you, I'll fix that. I -- " 

Steve swallows. "I know you can't here me, but just in case. I want you to know that. So. Yeah." He rubs his thumb over Tony's hand. "I love you. A lot. I love you, Tony."

There's no response, except Tony's face scrunches in his sleep. He moans.

"Hey," Steve whispers "hey, no, Tony. It's okay. It's not real."

His heart rate is picking up. "Natasha," Steve croaks "something's happening."

The door slams open. "What is it?" She says, hand fluttering over Tony's face, his body "Is he okay?"

"I think it's another nightmare."

"Shh," Natasha says, smoothing a hand over his forehead "it's okay, Tony. Steve's here. Steve's coming." She turns to him. "Eat. Catch up. Shower. Five hours, and then we'll link you back in."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have written about 0 new words on this. I go back to school next week and it's just... i'm dreading it, basically. I don't even want to think about it. Oh God. 
> 
> So yeah. Last chapter of the year. Honestly, I'll aim to update once a week. I have major exams in May and it's time for me to actually start putting work in otherwise I'm seriously fucked.
> 
> I hope you all have a fab new year!!


	127. Chapter 127

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning's for dub-con: basically forced kissing which is non-consensual

Something is different, this time around.

The room is warm, cosy. He recognises it, it's the tower. Outside, New York is dully lit, bright lights not quite illuminating the towers around them.

Steve's never seen a night sky like this before. It's beautiful.

Tony's there, too, kneeling by the coffee table. There's papers spread out around him, specs. Some scotch in a little crystal class. 

He looks up. "Steve!" He says, and he grins. "You're back!"

Steve blinks. "I am." He says, and for the first time he becomes aware that he's carrying a rucksack, slung over one shoulder.

Tony walks quickly -- no, runs -- and he squishes Steve against him, wraps his arms tight around his neck. "I missed you." He says, breath warm against his skin. "I missed you so much, honey."

Steve stands there, stiff for a moment, and then lets his bag slump to the floor. Closes his arms around Tony, one hands coming to curl in his hair. "I missed you too." He murmurs, burying his nose in his scent "I missed you a lot."

Tony draws back, grinning. "You're early," he says "I didn't expect -- " he looks back at the table, smiles sheepishly "I haven't got anything ready."

Steve doesn't know where he's supposed to have gone but he doesn't care. He takes Tony's hands and presses a kiss to his lips, long, lingering. Enough that he feels Tony melt, just a little. "Don't care." He whispers against his lips "just you is fine."

Tony smiles at him slowly for a moment and then slaps him, breaking them both out of the trance. "You big charmer, you." He says "C'mon, sit down. You must be exhausted. How was it? You're not hurt, are you?" Tony hands suddenly flap all over him. "There's a bruise," he says, fingers lingering on Steve's cheekbone "Did something happen?"

"Got caught in the face," Steve lies, perfectly "it's nothing."

Tony relaxes, smiling up at him. "Very rougish." 

"I'm glad you think so."

Tony takes Steve's hand and drags him over to the couch. "Sit," he says "let me fix you a drink. You want anything special?"

"You drink?" Steve blurts "Why -- I mean -- "

Tony frowns. "Why wouldn't I?" He says, smiling confusedly. "You know what I'm like."

Steve gives a weak laugh. "Yeah," he says "you, you love your drink."

"Is that supposed to be sarcastic?" Tony says, head tilting as he pushes the martini into Steve's hand. "You know I'm not like that Steve-o, I'm not my dad." Tony eyes narrow. "You weren't hit on the head, were you?"

"What? No." Steve says quickly. "No, no. Just," he smiles softly "it's good to see you."

He kisses him again, before he can sip the scotch. His fingers gently trace the shell of his ear.

Tony breaks away. "You big weirdo." He says "You're making me all sentimental, I think I might cry."

Steve swallows something large in his throat. "What are you working on?" He asks, leaning back. "Something good?"

Tony grins. "New suit. Yeah, I know what you're going to say, but I have too. Well I don't, actually, but it had this idea, right, which is basically, you know how fast my suit moves? What if it could go faster."

"As long as it's safe."

"Oh, trust me, it is."

"Are you crossing your fingers."

"Nope."

"Toes?"

"Oh you know me so well."

Steve smiles, raises his glass. "To us," he toasts.

Tony scrambles to pick up his scotch. "To us," he quickly replies, and downs it in one, wincing. "Yeugh. God, that's too bitter."

A world where Tony Stark doesn't like to drink. Steve doesn't know what's happening here, but it's starting to take shape.

"I said we'd go down to the mansion on Saturday," Tony murmurs, straddling Steve's waist. "I hope you don't mind."

"I would never mind."

Tony raises an eyebrow. "Really? You normally hate it."

"I'm happy to go anywhere you go."

Tony's nose wrinkles, head tilting in confusion. "Are you sure you didn't get hit on the head?"

"Positive."

"It's just, Jarvis wanted to celebrate you coming home. You know what he's like. We can be in and out, he won't make us stay."

"Jarvis," Steve says slowly "why -- "

Oh.

"Never mind." Steve says quickly, flashing a smile. "That's fine. I'm happy to do that."

"You sure?"

"Certain." Steve says "I'm looking forward to it."

Tony snorts. "Okay, don't lay it on too thick."

Steve downs the rest of his drink and lets the empty glass roll onto the floor. He cups Tony's face with both his hands. Sighs. "You're beautiful." He murmurs, thumb dragging over Tony's cheekbone. "I love you."

Tony leans into the touch, hand coming up to cover Steve's. His eyes close, and Steve sees the gold ring on his finger.

"I'm so happy to be married to you." Tony grins, eyes still shut. "What did I do to deserve this?"

Steve finds that it's difficult for him to say anything else, so he just continues stroking Tony's cheek. Pulls him closer, so that he's tucked under his chin.

He doesn't want to break this. He can't tell Tony this isn't real.

"Nothing," Steve says "you are as you are."

Tony rolls his eyes. "God, you're so soppy tonight. I'm gonna ask you, one more time, did you hit your -- "

There's a sudden pinging noise and Tony frowns. "Damn," he mutters "one moment, if you will."

He reaches into his back pocket and thumbs out his phone, eyes scanning the screen. He frowns.

"Something important?" Steve asks.

"Uh," Tony narrows his eyes "no. No, nothing. That's -- weird. Nothing."

"What is it?"

Tony looks up, shows him the screen. It's a text: Remember.

"Remember?" Steve says "You know what that means?"

"I -- " Tony frowns "no? Should I? I don't know the number."

"You should ask Jarvis."

"Jarvis? Why would Jarvis know. Pep, do you recognise this?"

A distinctly feminine voice rings through the room. "Mr Rogers, the number is unidentified."

"Huh." Tony says. "Never mind. Where were we? Oh yeah, so are you sure -- "

The phone pings again and Tony groans. "Oh for God's sake." He stares at the screen, shakes his head. "Steve, help me out here, what am I missing?"

Steve gently takes his hands. "Tony," he says quietly "you know this isn't real."

Tony blinks, stares at him. "What?"

"This." Steve says "None of this is real. I'm sorry, Tony, but it's not. Tiberius Stone put in a simulation called the DreamVision and now you can't get out. You need to remember. Remember that this isn't real."

Tony slides off Steve lap. "What the hell are you talking about?" He demands "Steve, have you lost your damn mind? You're -- are you okay? Please, did something happen you're not telling me about?" 

"Tony, you don't drink. You're an alcoholic. Jarvis isn't real, he's an AI, and he's dead. Pepper was your fiance, not a computer program, don't you see? None of this is real. None of this ever existed."

"Steve," Tony says, breathing heavily "last week we were at the Stark Industries couples retreat. We were in, in a canoe. We ate pie, remember? You remember that? We've been married two years. You, honey, please, are you okay? Talk to me, c'mon, don't -- "

"Listen, Tony," Steve says, and they're both standing, Steve taking Tony's shoulders "please just listen. You know Tiberius put you here. You know that. You just need to remember. You need to break through, and you need to try to -- "

"Oh, my God," Tony says, shaking his head "you're scaring me. You're actually scaring me. Steve, sit down, I'm gonna call Bucky. Just, just sit tight, hold on -- "

"No!" Steve says, grabbing at Tony's wrist "Tony! That isn't real! This life isn't -- "

"Look at this photo, Steve," Tony snaps "look at it." And he grabs the framed picture, he and Tony, wearing suits, smiling, and it could be any picture of them except Steve knows it never happened. "Tell me that's not real, Steve, tell me. Go on."

"It's not real." Steve says softly.

The picture hits the floor and the glass cracks. "No," Tony says and he stumbles back "no, no no." He holds his head, looking wildly around the room. "You shut up." He says "Shut up. You're lying, you're -- "  
"You remember."

"I remember nothing!" Tony shouts, gasping. "You -- you're not -- was any of it real? Any of it? Do you even love me? Am I even -- who am I? Steve? Steve what is this? Steve? Oh God, Steve, I'm so scared. There's no one here. There's no one here and it's so dark -- "

"Shh," Steve says "it's okay. It's okay, see? You remember, that's all. You've broken through. That's it. Can you hold this? Can you stay here?"

"Stay here?" Tony croaks. "Oh God, Steve, how long have I -- "

"Not long, not long at all sweetheart. It's okay. Listen to me, can you wake up? Can you do that for me?"

Tony closes his eyes, holds Steve's hands, breathing fast, faster. He shakes his head, panting. "I can't. I -- something's wrong. I can't wake up, something's -- "

There's a crash and the wall collapses in, which should be impossible, because the only thing outside that wall is New York city.

Rubble and dust covers the invader, Steve and Tony both coughing, Steve drawing Tony behind him in an instinctive gesture of protection. Through the smoke, Steve makes out -- is that a wrecking ball.

Someone laughs and a figure steps down from the yellow compartment, dusts off his hands.

No.

"Sorry about the mess." Tiberius says, looking behind him, making a face. "I wanted to make a grand gesture."

"Tony," Steve says "whatever you're imagining, stop it now."

"This isn't me." Tony hisses "Are you out of your mind? Why would I -- "

"Tony?" Ty says, grinning and looking round Steve's form. "You there? Well I know you are, but, you know. What you gonna do about it."

"How -- "

"You're all dumbasses." Ty says lazily, going for the bar. "I can't believe you genuinely thought I'd just get up and leave."

"You told me -- " Tony starts, only to be shut up with a wave of Ty's hand.

"I told you a lot." Ty says, raising his eyebrows over his glass "But guess what? I lied. You're mine, Tony, you're always gonna be mine. Nothing can change that, now. Especially not Steve."

"Oh yeah?" Steve scoffs. "How you figure that?"

"Because," Ty says simply "you're stuck here too."

Tony jerks, suddenly, looks at Steve and then at Ty, and his face twists, he starts spitting vitriol although no sound comes past his lips.

"Un-mute." Ty says with a lazy wave of his hand.

"You fucking son of a bitch," Tony spits "you lonely little creepy little fuckweasel, what the fucking hell is wrong with you, how could you -- "

"Mute." Ty says again, and he takes a seat on the couch, crosses his legs. "Do you want to hear? Or no?"

"Hear what?" Steve says, crossing his arms. "How you're sick? How you need help? How I'm going to crack open your skull with my bare hands?"

Ty laughs, and suddenly Steve is sitting, of no volition of his own. "Did you really think that this thing didn't have, like, wireless capabilities? Hello? It's 2016, you fucking fossil, the whole point is that we're gonna use it for large-scale control."

"How?"

"Nanites. The same -- would you look at that? -- nanites you have in your blood, right now." Ty laughs "I guess Whitney told you that Tony was in control of this, huh? She's fucking stupid. If Tony was in control, he'd be able to wake up, simple as. God she's always been such a fucking dope."

"Is Whitney part of this?" Steve says, and he feels his blood boiling, he takes Tony's hand in his. "Is she part of this little scheme?"

"Well in fairness, she doesn't know she is. I told her what I told her; she believes she's helping you. She was always too risky," Ty says, eyes sliding to Tony over his glass "she loved him too much."

"So what?" Steve spits "You're just gonna keep us here? That's your plan?"

"Well, my plan was to keep Tony. Just as a little present to myself, you know? Keep him off the playing field, I'm happy, HYDRA's happy. But then, we figured, why not kill two birds with one stone? I told Whitney that they only way to get someone out was to send someone in... naturally, that leads to your pretty Captain taking a hit, joining you in my paradise." Ty shrugs, sips his drink. "It's win-win. We'll see how it goes, maybe I'll be given the go ahead to kill you. Until that point," Ty gestures around him "go wild."

Tony squeezes Steve's hand, tugs, gesturing at his mouth. "Let him talk." Steve grunts.

Ty raises an eyebrow. "Fine. Go ahead, baby."

"Ty, you can't do this." Tony says in a rush. "Come on, you can't. I don't, I don't know what I can say to convince you, or, or make you see -- "

"Keep talking."

"How can this be you?" Tony says "Ty? Ty, c'mon. What happened? You, you were a kid, you, we went to school together. Don't you remember that? Did something happen to you? Did it? Please Ty, you weren't always like this, I know you weren't. You can't kill Steve, you can't keep me here, you just -- "

"Tony, I can. I can, and I have." Ty's gaze softens. "I know it's difficult, right now, but don't worry. You'll forget soon, I'm sure. And then you'll be fine, okay? Anty it'll be alright again, don't worry. I can give you anything you want here. Anything. Tell me what you want," Ty says, standing "tell me what you want and I'll let you have it. You want to fly? Fuck? No more nightmares? I can get rid of memories you don't want. I can get rid of Howard, Tony, Obadiah, The Rings. I -- " Ty lowers his voice, kneels in front of him "I can get rid of the wormhole, if that's what you want." He takes Tony's hand, presses a reverent kiss to it's knuckles. "What do you say? You won't even remember Steve, your suits, you won't need them. Bliss, Tony, peace, that's what I can give you. What can he give you?" Ty spits accusingly, looking at Steve "What can he give you that I can't?"

Tony swallows. "Something real, Ty. Something I want. Not forced."

Ty draws back his hand viciously, ready to strike, but slowly lowers his hand. He stands. "Just for that, the next place we're visiting is a lion's pit or something. That'll be fun, won't it Tony? Shall I let you get ripped apart? Or shall I push Steve in instead? Make you watch? What do you think?"

"I think you're ill." Tony says quietly. "And I think you can do whatever you like to us. We won't cave."

"We," Ty spits, mockingly. "We, we, we. Yeah, well playtime's over boys. You're mine now, Anty, whether you like it or not. Your Captain's out of commission." He addresses Steve. "Where would you like to go? Back in the ice? I can do that. I can reach right into your head, and send you back deep there. Or what about, okay, this looks good, Barnes. What about Barnes, Steve, shall I have him kill you over and over? No even better, have you kill him over and over? Something, anything. I can make you want to kill yourself in over fifty different ways. What do you say?"

"I say you should go to hell."

"Come here, Tony." Ty says, Tony just standing on command, making a noise of frustration. "Kiss me."

"No." Tony says, even as he leans forward and presses his lips to Ty's, who just keeps looking at Steve.

"Come on, Tones," Ty says, not breaking eye contact "I want you to put a little bit into it this time. That's it, a bit more tongue. We can -- mmph."

Tony's hand wrap around Ty's waist, he presses against him, slick noises filling the space, and the whole time, Ty just stares at Steve like this is all a big joke. He pulls away, tugs Tony's head closer, and whispers something in his ear. Tony groans.

Ty keeps him there, stroking the back of his head. "You see, Captain. Anything. Do you want to kill Tony, over and over? Wouldn't that be fun? My God, the things I can make you do. The things I can make you see."

"Don't." Tony bites out, trying to tug away. "Ty, don't. It's not his fault, please. Don't -- don't put him through that."

Ty sighs, stroking a curl on Tony's brow. "I like your hair like this," he murmurs "reminds me of when we were younger."

Tony slaps his hand away. "Don't hurt him." He says again, and pitches his voice lower. "Please."

"Please?" Ty says "Please? Will you beg me, Tony? Would you beg me to let your Captain go?"

"I would do anything." Tony whispers. "I would do anything I could."

Ty stares at him. Narrows his eyes. And backhands him, hard enough that he collapses to the floor. "You," he spits, raising his hand at Steve and throwing him across the room "you have RUINED HIM!" 

Steve grunts against the wall, pushes himself to his feet. "No," he says "you're just a sore loser."

"You," Ty grunts, fisting his hands in Steve's shirt and tugging him to his feet "you have destroyed him, understand? He was perfect before you, perfect. And now -- " he punches Steve in the cheekbone, impossibly hard, hard in a way he hasn't felt in years " -- he doesn't love me."

"That's not my fault." Steve grits as Ty punches him again, over and over again, pushes him to his knees and just takes shots, head cracking from side to side.

"Stop!" Tony screams "Ty! Wait! Don't!"

"Stop," Ty mimics, face twisting as he breaks Steve's nose "wait, wait, Ty, please. You shut up," he spits, turning to Tony. "I am so pissed off with you right now you have no idea. As soon as I'm done with him I'm gonna fuck you up, don't you worry. I'm gonna make you see right, Stark."

He kicks Steve in the side, enough that he falls, sprawled on the floor. He lies there, unable to move, as Ty reigns blow upon blow, stomping on his back, kicking his face, his legs, his groin, trying to crush the bones in his feet.

"Stop!" Tony says again. "Ty, I'm warning you, please just fucking stop."

"You're warning me?" Ty says with derision "You're warning me? As if you have some -- "

Ty is wrenched back by the shoulder, pushed against the wall. Tony is panting, fists curling in his shirt. "You're an idiot." He grits.

"How -- " Ty starts, cut off by Tony's hand on his throat "how are you -- "

"Did you even disable Extremis?" Tony spits, grinning. "Did you? Did you really? Because I'm getting a lot of feedback right now, Ty. A lot. I'm feeling pretty invincible now, Ty, what do you say?"

He sends him sprawling across the floor, straddles his waist. "Not quite how you pictured this happening, is it?" Tony says, growling. 

"Wait," Ty gasps "Anty wait -- don't -- "

"What should I do to you, I wonder." Tony ponders. "Hmm. Should I feed you to the lions, Ty? Would you like that? Should I, should I freeze you in ice? Have you got any fears? Is there anything you fear? Anything?"

"Why don't you look?" Ty pants "Go on. Take a look. See what I fear, Tony. See what I fear, Anty."

The room falls silent. Ty's ragged breathing and Steve just trying to bear the pain, Tony searching through Ty's head the same way he had searched through there's.

"You think that validates what you've done?" Tony says quietly. "You that justifies your actions? You fell in with HYDRA, Ty. HYDRA. They're Nazis. They -- I can't even begin to describe what that makes you."

Ty coughs. "I love you."

"I don't think you're capable of love." Tony says, slowly. "Ty, I'm sorry. I don't think you know what love is at all."

"Kill me, then." Ty spits "Go on. Kill me while you have the chance."

Tony stares at him. Then turns, moves to Steve. "You okay?" He says, kneeling. "Here, let me fix you."

The pain disappears, and Steve can move. He sits up, stands, next to Tony. Ty pushes himself up so he's resting on his arms. "Go on." He says. "Kill me."

"I need to wake up." Tony murmurs. "How do I wake up?"

"You." Steve spits. "Let us go. You have no power anymore, you're done."

Ty grins. "I'd rather stay here for the rest of my life than let you go."

"Then you're an idiot, aren't you." Tony says, the buzz of a repulser starting up, suddenly cloaking his hand. "If I kill you here, do you die in real life?"

"I don't know."

"Well then," Tony says "I guess we'll just have to find out."

The moment hangs there. The repulser charges. A bright white light.

"Fine." Ty says, holding up his hands. "Fine. You win. You win, you ass. I'm leaving. I'm going."

"Don't trust him." Steve whispers "Kill him."

Tony's head whips round. "You really want me to do that?"

"He would, in a heartbeat."

Ty stands, still holding up his hands. "No tricks, no jokes. Search my head, Tony, go on," Ty sounds tired "you can see. I'm telling the truth."

Slowly, Tony lowers his palm. "We'll search for you, out there." He says. "I can't stop them hunting you down."

"I know." Ty says, and then he pauses. "While you're here," he says "and while you have such lovely access to my thoughts, could you tell me one thing?"

Tony narrows his eyes. "Go on."

"Am I? Capable of it? Of love? Is, is there something wrong with me? What can you see?" There's a slightly desperate twinge to Ty's tone, it's not as cool as he would have it be. "What I feel for you, what is that?"

Tony pauses. "It is... as far as I can see, it's what you call love. But your definition is different, Ty. That's not real love, that's obsession. That's jealously. Possessiveness. You want to beat me. You don't love me, not really."

Ty nods. "Not like you," he spits "not like your Captain."

"No." Tony says "Not like us."

Ty stares at Tony for a while. He opens his mouth, like he's about to say something, and then closes it again. "You're a good man, Anty." He says, and Tony can't quite catch the emotion behind it, if any at all, because then he's gone.

Tony turns to Steve. Swallows. "Is that it?"

Steve wills himself to wake up, feels the telltale feeling of floating. "I think so."

"Can -- can I do it? Can I wake up?"

"You need to try, Tony." Steve says, taking his hands. "Just, just think it. Just tell yourself you're leaving."

Tony frowns. "Something's happening."

"What?"

"This isn't -- this isn't right."

"Tony? Tony what are you talking about?"

Tony jerks back, still holding Steve's hands. "Don't leave," he blurts "oh God, what's happening. Where am I going?"

"Tony?" Steve cries "Tony, what's wrong?"

"Don't leave," Tony gasps, pushing himself against Steve's body "come with me."

"Always." Steve says "Always."

The lights flicker and darkness overtakes them, darkness like Steve has never known. He's never been so scared of something he can't see, and he just holds onto Tony, holds on and hopes and prays that he doesn't let go.

Darkness, is what Steve thinks. He thinks he's blind. But then he realises that he can still see Tony. And that, around him, there are green lines of code.

He's been here before.

Although, last time, there had only been one Tony.

Not two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got my writing mojo back! yass!
> 
> or at least for tonight. I wrote this chapter in about three hours. I still have nothing backed up, and idk if I want to wait and finish the whole thing or post it in drips and drabs.
> 
> Anyway. As usual, comments ARE REALLY REALLY REALLY LOVED YOU GUYS. ANYTHING YOU CAN SAY. IT DOESN'T EVEN HAVE TO BE RELATED TO THE STORY. Seriously I just get excited to see a comment notification in my inbox, it's the best.


	128. Chapter 128

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING'S FOR SERIOUS SELF-LOATHING although it's complicated and it's more being hated on although it could be considered a manifestation of personal feeling and basically just watch out for it

Two Tony's. Two of them. One kneeling, on the ground, the other with a hand on his shoulder. Maybe trying to make him stand.

"Tony?" Steve says, stepping closer. "Uh, which -- "

The standing Tony looks up. "It's him you want." He says, flashing a grin. "But he might not be very helpful. Hasn't talked in a while."

Steve whips his head around, searches for his Tony, the one he came with, but he can't find him. He's gone, slipped from his fingers, now kneeling on the floor some distance away.

Steve steps forward. "What are you?" He asks.

The standing Tony -- Stark, Steve decides -- shrugs. "I don't know. Him, I suppose."

"Tony?" Steve says, softly. "Tony, it's me. It's Steve. God, we -- we were so close. Do you remember? Tony, you can wake up. Can you hear me? Are, are you listening to me?"

Tony does look up, at his words. "Steve." He mutters thickly, swallowing. "Is -- is this real?"

"Yeah this is real, Tony," Steve says dropping to his knees in front of him. "Or I mean -- it isn't. But I'm here, definitely, and we're gonna get you out."

"Where did you go?" Tony asks "You were here, and then you left. You didn't come back."

"Don't you remember? Tony, I swear we were together just a moment ago. You broke through. We nearly got out. You -- you can do that, now."

Tony frowns, eyes closing. "I don't remember." He says, lowly. "I never remember. This place... this place is strange, Steve."

"The second level." Steve mutters. "You don't remember anything from what you're imagining, do you?"

"Something changing." Tony says dully. "The code. Something's not right."

"Extremis." Steve says, taking Tony's face in his hands. "You're waking up. You're breaking out. That must be it, Tony. Come on. You're so close. Just wake up."

"No," comes a voice, and it's Stark "no, I don't think so."

Steve stares up at him. "What do you want?"

"Me? I... I don't want to leave." Stark says, examining his nails. "Not at all, really. Sorry."

Steve stands, slowly. "Tony," he says "what's going on here?"

Tony swallows. "I'm sorry." He says, voice hoarse. "He's right. We can't leave."

Steve blinks. "What?"

"You hear that, Steve-o?" Stark grins "Tony agrees with me. We're not going anywhere. So you can wake up now."

"Tony, why -- "

"You missed a lot." Stark continues, waving his hands. "There were more of us, to begin with. You had Mr Happy, Courage the Cowardly dog, the fucking hulk." Stark shrugs. "Just me, now. Survival of the fittest. I always win, isn't that right, Tony?"

Tony nods, dumbly, keeping his eyes trained on the ground.

"So you see, we're good here." Stark grins, giving Steve the thumbs up. "We don't need you anymore. He's got me. I'm all Tony needs."

"You don't believe that." Steve says, crouching down. "Tony, come on, you don't believe that. We need to go. Please, just wake up."

Tony's eyelashes flutter. "He's right," he croaks "you're better without me."

"That's not what I said," Stark says "but yeah, I'll run with that. You are better off without him, Steve, honestly. You don't need a ball and chain dragging you down, not one as heavy as this."

"I'm not good for you." Tony mutters. "You should leave."

"And what," Steve demands "keep you here? Pull the plug? Let you die? Tony this is madness. I get it, this is your subconscious, and I'm so so fucking sorry I haven't, I haven't been able to fix this yet, but you can -- "

"Steve, it's okay." Tony says dully "You may think, you think you love me, but you don't. A day, a week, a month, you'll move on. Everyone else does."

"That's right." Stark says, proudly. "Everyone moves on eventually. No one stays for us, no one."

"No," Steve says "Tony, there's no time for this. This isn't real. You, you were happy, I know you were. What I just saw? If that's your dream, Tony, then I can give you that. You want to marry me? I'll marry you. In a heartbeat. I don't even need to think about it. I can't, I can't give you Jarvis, and I can't make things that have happened go away, but I can love you. I can, and I do love you, so fucking much. Please, Tony, please. I love you. I love you."

The words stir Tony slightly, enough that he rests one hand on Steve's cheek. "I -- " He says, tiredly, before falling slack. "You can't stay here forever, Steve." 

"Can't I?" Steve says fiercely "Just watch me, Tony. I'm not leaving without you. If you want to waste away, fine, I will too. If you want to commit suicide, fine. Fine, fucking fine, but I'm not, I'm not going out there without you, without, because I love you, I love you and Tony you are the only, sometimes you are the only thing worth getting up for, understand? And if that's selfish I accept it, but I can't live without you, I can't do that, so if you die, I will too."

Stark scoffs. "Oh, shut up." He says "Let Tony be. He knows his worth, he doesn't want to drag you down. He's doing you a favour."

"You shut up." Steve spits "Shut up. Stop, stop whispering things into his ear, stop poisoning him."

"Tony knows he's worthless, right Tony?"

"Yeah." Tony says, lacklustre. "I know that."

"And you know how we know it's true?" Stark says "Because I'm here. Out of all of us to survive, it wasn't happiness, it wasn't anger, it wasn't even cowardice, it was me."

"And what are you?" Steve growls "What do you call yourself?"

"Despair."

Steve leans back, turns to Tony. "Don't listen to him." He murmurs. "Break out, and we can be together. We can do it all, Tony. Marriage, friends, family. I can make you happy."

"No, Tony," Stark says, slipping behind him, whispering in his ear. "You know that's not true. You know that won't happen. Look what happened last time, look at Pepper. You gave her your heart. She said she would never leave. Where is she now?"

"True." Tony says, sadly.

"I'm not Pepper," Steve hisses "Tony, there are people who stay together, out there, people who can be happy. You can, you can be happy if you just -- "

"But you're not one of those people, Tony." Stark says, sympathetic. "Are you? You've never been happy. No one's ever loved you. No one. Mommy didn't love you, Daddy didn't love you. Jarvis, Jarvis said he loved you, you trusted him so, so much, and where did he go? Pepper? Ru? They all left. Look at Ty, Tony. He didn't love you either. Whitney betrayed you because you took her for granted. No one loves you, Tony, no one ever will. Don't delude yourself. It will never get better."

Tony looks down. "But I want it to get better." He says, voice cracking. "I want -- "

"I know." Stark says, sighing "I know. It's rough, isn't it? But you can't be such a baby about this, Tony. Everyone else has it so much worse than you do. You're rich, you're good-looking. You're just not a good person. You murdered other humans for money, Tony, that's despicable. That's awful. You have no redeeming features, you're just a pile of shit, you can't -- "

"But," Tony says, taking in a shaky breath "but I try. I try to make things better, I try -- "

"Don't listen to him, Tony." Steve says, stroking his thumb over Tony's hand. "It's not your fault. Your mother was ill, your father was ill. Jarvis has a reason to go. You were manipulated and tired and you saw that and you made it better. You're not, you're not shit, you're so much more, you're a hero, and I love you, I love you, I love you so much. You can't help the way your brain chemistry works -- "

"Bipolar." Stark says consideringly. "Isn't that just a fancy term for spoilt rich boys who feel sad because no one loves them?"

Tony tucks his head into his knees, holds his head. "Steve," he says, muffled "I don't know what to do."

"Don't stay, Tony," Steve whispers "please don't stay. I can't live without you. I can't, don't you see? There's so much left for you to do. You need to change the world. Please."

"Change the world?" Stark says "Tony, this world is insignificant. You are insignificant. You are nothing. You have always been nothing, you're pathetic. Lowest of the low. Nothing you do will ever matter, Tony, nothing."

"It's lying," Steve says "I can't believe you're just believing it's lies. Tony, how can what you do be insignificant, you save lives, you save real people and -- "

"And Steve," Stark whispers "Steve doesn't love you. You know he doesn't love you. How can someone so perfect ever love you? You, so pathetic, and disgusting, how could he ever want to -- "

"Don't listen," Steve spits "how dare you speak for me, what are you? How can you -- "

Tony lifts up his head. "Steve loves me." He says. "He may not stick around, but right now, he loves me."

"If he leaves, it's not love." Stark says. "You know that. And everyone leaves."

"Rhodey never left." Tony points out. "He's still here."

"One person?" Stark hisses "You got one person to love you, in all your years. Even he's going to leave eventually, wait till he gets married, he'll -- "

"I'm so tired." Tony says, slumping. "I can't -- Steve, I don't know if I want to keep going."

"You have to keep going."

"But it's so difficult." Tony says. "I can't -- " Tony looks up, looks Steve in the eye. "Help me up."

Steve scrambles to offer Tony his hand, tug him up so he's standing. "Let's go, Tony." 

"No. No I can't -- "

"Everyone is waiting for you." Steve says quietly. "The whole team. Tony, I don't know what they'd do if you died. I mean it. I don't know how we could continue."

"You would find a way." Tony says weakly. "Everyone else does."

"No," Steve says, softly. "Can't you recognise a family when you see one? We couldn't get over you, Tony, none of us could. You gave us a home."

Tony swallows. "I'm not worth -- "

"Look into my head."

"What?"

"Back there, in the simulation. You looked into Stone's head, and you were able to see. Look into mine. Go on, tell me what's in there. Tell me what I feel for you."

"You," Tony blinks "you feel."

"Go on," Steve prompts again "see. See what I feel, I know you can."

Tony swallows. "I -- "

"I love you." Steve says. "That's all I can say."

Tony closes his eyes, presses his hands to his hair. "I," he says, breathing heavily "I, I -- "

"See, Tony, look. See that I'm telling the truth."

Tony whimpers, desperate, stumbles back. "I -- you -- "

"Don't, Tony," Stark hisses "don't. He's lying, they're all lying. They're lying to you, that's all they ever do. You're weak, you're weak, you'll never be worth half what you are now without me, you can't -- "

"I," Tony says "I see, I see, I see, Steve, I see, God I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, so, so sorry."

The code around them snaps, blurring as it jerks into fast run of green, green, green, single numbers no longer visible. Stark screams.

"You idiot!" He says "You idiot, you're broken it. You've broken it! You can't -- "

"Steve," Tony says "Steve I can feel it. I can do it."

"Hold my hand."

"No!" Stark screeches "No! No you can't leave! Don't leave! Stop! Just stop!"

Tony huffs a breath against Steve lips as they hold each other close. Steve presses his head into Tony's neck, Tony's hand wrapping into his hair. "I'm so sorry," Tony whispers into his ear "sweetheart I love you so much. I love you, I would never leave."

"Don't!" Stark sobs "Please, don't. Tony, don't go, Steve. Please don't go, please, I can't, I can't stand another second -- "

"What is he?" Steve says as a bright white light tinges somewhere far away. "What does he mean?"

"I think," Tony says as the light grows closer. "I think he's me."

"No!" Stark says, beating his hands against the floor. "Oh please, oh please -- "

"Hold on." Steve breathes. "Don't let go."

"I would never." Tony says, tightening his grip on Steve's head.

A bright white light; the screaming cuts out. For a moment, they float.

Steve feels something he's never felt before. He sees thing, everything.

A whole life, in an instant.

He sees Tony's script played out in front of his eyes.

Feels every emotion.

Tony gasps, holding him tight. "Steve," he says, half in wonderment, half with something else. "Steve?"

They press against each other. The moment passes. The light dissolves around them, and they wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO NOW WE'RE ONTO...
> 
> ...THE FINAL PART (duh duh duuuhuhuhuh)


	129. Part Eight

Tony floats up gently. It feels gentle. Just like waking up from a nice, long, refreshing snooze.

He frowns, eyes still shut. Smacks his lips slightly. His mouth is dry. He yawns, rolling over, and hits a wall of solid warmth. Mmm. Steve. Steve is, Steve is warm, and Tony is quite cold. He tries to press closer, the warmth chuckling slightly.

"Here." Steve says, voice rough but content "Extra blanket."

Tony mumbles something in thanks and worms closer, wrapped in the duvet and the blanket and Steve. It's nice. It's good.

 

The next time he wakes up, he's still so tired. This time, he manages to crack his eyes open slightly and roll onto his side. The big wall of solid warmth has gone, which is disappointing. Someone is sitting at his bedside.

The woman smiles. "Hey, Tony."

Tony blinks at her, drowsy. Tries to place the voice. It's -- oh! Carol. Oh, she's here. Oh, that's good. Rhodey will be happy. Rhodey will be so happy.

"I'm taking watch." She says "Don't worry. You're still knocked out. We have you on a sedative to make sure you're... we have you on a sedative."

Tony smiles, not worrying about words. That's okay. He doesn't mind. Everything is fluffy at the edges, which isn't a bad way to live, not at all. He closes his eyes again. Oh look, sleep.

 

This time it doesn't go so well. He's standing the room that Ty used, the default one, the one he, the one he had used to --

He had scraped through Tony's head, found things he feared. And now Tony's in the room with all the cockroaches. Curls up, and they climb all over him, his head and up his nose and, and Tony feels sick, he isn't even aware when someone wakes him up and pushes his head down into a small bin, lets him throw up inside.

"Easy, Tony." Natasha soothes. "It's okay, Anton."

"Wha -- " Tony says, because is he awake? Or is Ty trying to trick him? He doesn't know. He feels really sick. He throws up again, shaking all over. Where is he? What is this?

"Tower, Tony, you're in your bedroom. Steve's just eating dinner, okay? Do you want Steve? Shall I get him?"

"Steve." Tony breathes, fighting down waves of nausea. "Yeah. Yeah, Steve."

Natasha murmurs something, probably to Jarvis. Tony slumps, head resting on her shoulder as she strokes through his hair, whispers inane soothing things that almost send him back to sleep. Steve comes in and Tony reaches for him, arms outstretched.

"Hey," Steve murmurs "it's okay. Just a bad dream, Tony."

"Stay?" Tony asks, fighting down the urge to throw up. "Steve they're drugging me, they're making me not think, not -- stop."

Steve strokes his hair. "Okay." He says simply. "We will. You had nightmares, Tony, so we were keeping you calm. We didn't want you to wake up scared, or confused."

"Too late." Tony grumbles, and Steve laughs, slightly.

"Here," he says "budge over. Nat, it's fine. Go back to Buck, I'll take it from here."

Tony feels his eyes growing heavy. "I'm hungry." He says, head falling against Steve.

"Sleep now. You can eat in the morning."

"Where did all the wires go?"

"We took them out. But you need to let your stomach rest. Bland food first, I'm afraid."

"And then we can go out, right?"

Steve kisses his hair. "We can do whatever you want."

There's a scratching at the door and Tony tenses. "What -- "

"It's okay," Steve says "it's just Dog. Here, Dog, here. C'mon. Tony's awake now."

Dog pants, bounding up onto the bed. He turns a circle on Tony's lap, presses his head into his armpit, licks his face, jumps off the bed, jumps back on the bed, chases his tail, rubs himself against Tony, turns round and round and round until he finally settles on his legs, too big, too heavy, and two paws pressed onto Tony's shoulders as he scratches down the thick fur of his back.

"Dog!" Tony says, grinning. "Yeah, boy, I missed you. Yes, I did. Did you miss me? It looks like you missed me."

"Didn't leave your side the whole time." Steve says, scratching absently at Dog's head. "Refused to budge."

Tony makes a sound of relief. "Dog," he says "God, of course. This is real, of course it's real. Dog wouldn't, he was never there. Ty never included him, ever."

"You having problems with that?" Steve asks quietly. "You find it hard to tell?"

"A little." Tony says, settling back down, Dog on his lap. "Sometimes. It'll, it'll get better."

"Yeah." Steve agrees. "Better."

 

The next morning, Steve lets Tony shuffle up to the main floor to join the rest of the team. He puts on an old MIT sweater and some sweat pants, thick socks and some slippers. His hair is greasy, he stinks, and he looks like death.

He doesn't really care, though. Carefully propped up on Steve's arm, he makes his way to the elevator and up to the main floor, heart beating in his mouth for reasons he can't quite figure out.

There's a cheer when he enters, loud enough that he winces without realising. Why are there so many people? When did this team get so big? Him, Steve, Natasha, Bucky, Bruce, Clint, Thor, Pepper, Rhodey, Carol, is that -- it is, Janet, fuck, even Whitney.

Tony waves a hand in a kinda half recognition, but honestly he doesn't know how he's going to get round them all. Steve helps him sit at the table, next to Rhodey, who doesn't hold him but does clap his hand. "Tones," he says, as if about to add something else, and then just shakes his head. "You're damn lucky."

"Right." Tony blinks, staring at the food. "Uh. I, simple things only. Steve said -- "

"Fuck that." Clint says, sliding next to him "Tony, the way I see it, you can gorge yourself and inevitably throw it up later, or eat five crackers. Now, if I were you -- "

"I am starving." Tony admits, and there's eggs and bread and pancakes and waffles, syrup and ketchup and even some fries. Tomatoes and cheese and coffee and orange juice and mushrooms and nutella and honey and humous and jam. Those cheesy baps that Tony loves from the bakery on sixth. He helps himself to one, bites into it, and ohmygod, they're still warm, fresh, and someone has bought them especially.

Pepper stands behind him, tilts his head back into her stomach so he's looking up. "You," she says, and then just shakes her head. "I don't know what to say. It wasn't even your fault. Goddamn, Tony."

"How's the stock?" He asks.

Pepper blinks at him. "You're unbelievable." She says, pressing a kiss to his brow and smoothing out his forehead. "My God."

"Ignore him." Rhodey says "Tony, your stock is goddamn fine. Eat your eggs."

"Mmm." Tony says "Eggs."

"We all missed you Tony." Bruce says quietly, taking the chair opposite. "It's good to see you up and about."

"It's good to be up and about." Tony swallows. "In the real world. Free. Haha. Uh." He turns his head to plate, shovels some pancakes into his mouth. "These are good." He says, voice muffled, giving thumbs up.

"Don't talk with your mouthful," Pepper chides, still smoothing out the lines in his forehead. "I'm going for a shower. I will see you," she says, with a kiss to his hair "later."

Tony says something that sounds like 'bye' but is obscured slightly by the pancakes in his mouth. He catches Natasha and Whitney, deep in conversation over a cup of coffee. Both of them muttering in low voices.

Whitney's wearing an overlarge shirt, looks like one of Clint's, or maybe Bruce. Her hair is piled in a loose bun, the space under her eyes dark. She meets Tony's eye, and then quickly looks away.

"We're offering protection." Rhodey says, voice rough. "She tried to help you, in the end. In return, we'll..."

"It wasn't her fault." Tony mutters, staring at his plate. "She didn't have a choice."

"She made some very stupid decisions, Tony."

"Haven't we all?"

Rhodey nods. "Yeah." He says "We have."

Tony pauses, hand on his cup. "Uh," he says, staring anywhere but Rhodey "Ty." He says. "Is there, has there been any news."

"No." Rhodey says quietly. "No news."

"Would you, I mean. Could we offer him protection. Or at least just take him into custody. Give him to the state. Just, not let HYDRA touch him."

"What makes you think -- "

"He let me go." Tony says "Or at least, he fucked up. He didn't kill me and Steve when he had the chance. They're going to kill him." Tony feels a stab of pain in chest, and suddenly he wants to cry. "I really, really -- I don't want him dead, Rhodey."

Rhodey is silent next to him. "Well," he says "we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"No," Tony says "we need to find him before they do."

"Tony, I'm not wasting resources on -- "

"We have resources! This isn't about resources! It's about -- "

"Time. It's about time. We have four HYDRA bases ready to flush out in the next three days, we haven't got the time to go looking for -- "

"But there's so many of us!" Tony says "Look! You, and, and me -- "

"You are in no state to be going anywhere, Tony."

"Steve, Nat, Clint, Bucky, Thor, Whit, Bruce. We only need a few, just to be able to -- "

"And what if someone gets hurt trying to bring him in, Tony? What happens then? We can't -- aw, no, Tones, don't do that."

Tony didn't even realise he was crying. He presses his hand to his cheek, blinks. "I," he says "I."

"Here," Bruce says, quickly passing him a paper towel. "Don't worry about it."

Tony wipes his cheeks and the conversations around them continue. No one has noticed. "I," Tony says again, taking in a shaky breath "I don't -- I don't know why I don't want him dead. He doesn't deserve it. He, he was my best friend, I can't just -- "

"He tried to kill you." Rhodey says, in the reserved, concerned way he has.

"If you tried to kill me I wouldn't wish you dead, Jim."

Rhodey shakes his head. "Fine. He tried to kill Steve, how about that? He's part of HYDRA. HYDRA, Tony. They perform experiments on children. They were taking people off the streets and -- "

"I know that." Tony hisses "I know! I just don't want -- "

"Hey," Steve says easily "what's going on here."

Tony glares at Rhodey, purses his lips. "Nothing." He says, defiant. 

"Oh that's how it's gonna be." Rhodey mutters, turning away.

Steve makes a confused noise. "Ah," he says "okay. Well, Tony, Jan's here, she just wanted to say hi."

Tony turns, smiling up at her. "Hey," he says, as she kisses him on both cheeks "fancy meeting you here."

"Clint called me in to help organise things." She says, breezily. "Things were busy with, you know, your beauty sleep and Steve out of commission." She sighs. "HYDRA waits for nobody."

Tony snorts. "Yeah," he says "I know."

"This isn't usually my scene," Jan says, taking in the crowd at the table "but I could get used to it."

"Oh yeah?"

Jan shrugs, smiling slightly. "Well we'll see, won't we?" She frowns. "You look disgusting, by the way."

Tony sighs, turning back to his plate. "Thank you, sweetheart." He grumbles, mixing eggs on his plate.

"You doing okay?" Steve murmurs into his ear. "Tired? You can go back to bed if you want."

"I'm fine." Tony says, feeding Fucknut a boiled egg under the table "I want to see DreamVision."

Steve stares. "You mean -- "

"The machine. I want to take it apart, figure it out, and then incinerate it."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Well, that can be arranged." Steve says, raising his eyebrows. "I'll ask Buck where he put it. You sit tight."

"Right." Tony says, jerking slightly where Steve's slaps his shoulder too hard. He blinks.

The back of his neck start to prickle. Where is this, exactly? Is this -- God, is this real? Everyone together, everyone happy -- Ty wouldn't make this up, would he? Could he? Tony stares at the meal in front of him, the colours starting to swirl. What? How? He can't -- 

There's a persistent wet feel on his fingers, the rough drag of a tongue. Dog. Dog is under the table, and he's licking his fingers. Dog was never in the simulations, ever. Not when Ty made Tony see awful things, not when he tried to convince Tony that he was out and free. Dog just did not factor into the equation, and therefore -- 

Tony pushes back his chair, Dog hopping on to his lap, panting happily and tail knocking against the table. "Jesus!" Clint says "Do you think nows not the time, maybe?"

"Tony that dog is big." Carol says disparagingly. "What breed is it?"

"Golden retriever." Tony says, defensibly. 

"Are you sure?" She says "I used to have one, and I swear, it wasn't even half that size."

"He's just a big boy." Tony says "Some -- he's just big."

"To be fair I have never seen a golden that size." Steve puts in "I just don't like mentioning it. You get really defensive."

"No, I don't." Tony says "Hey! Don't laugh, he's just podgy. It's his fur, it makes him look poofy."

"Sure, Tony." Steve nods. "Sure. That's okay, we'll take your word for it."

Dog places on paw on the table, right in the middle of Tony's plate. He wags his tail proudly, squirming in Tony's lap. "I'm gonna go look at DreamVision. Steve?"

"Now?" Steve says "You sure it can't wait?"

"I'm tired. I just want to get it out of the way. I don't like thinking -- " Tony clears his throat "I don't want it around."

Steve nods, helping Tony to his feet. "Do you think you can walk?"

Tony shrugs. "Let me lean."

They make their way up to Steve's floor where the machine has been stored and just left by the elevator. "You want me to bring it down to the workshop?"

"No." Tony says "Could you get me hammer?" He asks sweetly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY so this is gonna be wrapped up soon and I'm starting to think about what my next big thing is gonna be (on top of finishing everything else off) and basically so far I have it narrowed down to:
> 
> Mafia AU  
> Skrull Invasion (but written in letter format?? like Tony is captive in a skrull camp and steve is part of the resistance and they send each other letters and try and get the world back to normal)  
> Kinda-sequal to this -- but not really. Basically it'll be set in a different verse because i wanna try out even mORE new tony angst, but anyway howard time travels to the future and everyone has to deal idk
> 
> OR SOMETHING U SUGGEST. SERIOUSLY. IF U HAVE SOMETHING THAT YOU'RE ABSOLUTELY ACHING TO HAVE WRITTEN JUST DROP A COMMENT. CAN LITERALLY BE ANYTHING. I MEAN IT. ANYTHING.


	130. Chapter 130

Steve makes Tony go back to bed not longer after he's demolished the damn machine with a crowbar and hammer. He's right, too, because Tony is exhausted and feeling incredibly nauseous.

So he showers and takes Dog and they curl up on his bed. He throws up what he ate, but he feels better for it, and takes some crackers and tea to settle his stomach. He must sleep for the rest of the day, because he's awoken by Steve, dressed in his op suit, saying that he, Rhodey, Nat and Clint are going on a mission.

"If you need anything, just ask Bruce, okay?"

"Okay." Tony says, drowsily. "When will you be back?"

"I want to say tomorrow morning but that's being optimistic. Most likely tomorrow night, or maybe even the day after that."

"Oh," Tony says "do you need help?"

"We're okay, Tony, just rest."

"Please be safe."

Steve presses a kiss to his forehead. "I'll be okay." He says "And when I'm back, you'll be better. We can go out for dinner, right?"

Tony smiles. "Right." He says.

Steve rubs his hand. "Okay," he murmurs. "There's dinner upstairs if you want any. Bruce said he'll save some just in case, so don't feel pressured."

"'Kay."

"I'll see you soon, alright?"

"See you soon."

"Love you."

"Love you too, Steve."

 

When Tony wakes up, it's still dark out, but he's not so tired anymore. It's maybe the early hours of the morning. He yawns, stretches, feeling out for the shape of Dog next to him. Dog means he's safe, Dog means this is real. He burrows back down, content, and happy to spend a few hours just drifting between sleep and reality.

"Tony?" Comes a soft voice, and Tony blinks. He opens his eyes.

Whitney's sitting there, silhouetted by the bright lights outside his window. She's wearing one of his old sweaters, which he doesn't press, and yoga pants. She smiles sadly when he looks at her, not saying anything, just wary, weary, of what she has to say.

"You have every right to be angry." She begins.

"I'm not."

Whitney closes her eyes. "You should be."

"You were coerced."

"I was stupid."

"You -- "

"No," Whitney says, rubbing her temples. "I know what you're going to say. I hate myself enough, and I hate that for some reason you want to forgive me for it. But that's not what I'm here for."

"Then what?" Tony says sitting up.

"I'm leaving." She says. "Will you try and stop me?"

Tony sees, then, when he looks down. The rucksack, the trainers, a rain mack thrown over her bag. She looks like she's set for a hike.

"No," Tony blurts "I mean, no, you can't leave. You can't. HYDRA -- "

"Won't find me. I have a whole new identity waiting for me, Tony, I've had it set up for years, since I became Masque. To be quite frank, I know how they work. It's Ty they'll be after, and I'm not a priority."

Tony looks at her, and they both acknowledge it.

That Ty is gone.

Whitney looks down, and then back up. "So I'm leaving." She says. "And that's that."

Tony stares at her. "Will I ever see you again?"

"No." Whitney pauses. "Do you want too?"

Tony shrugs half-heartedly. "I've lost too many people."

"You never really loved me, Tony." Whitney says softly. "You know that."

"I did." Tony says, looking up. "I did love you. Just not -- not in that way."

"Like a sister." Whitney says.

"Yeah," Tony agrees "like a sister."

Whitney smiles sadly. "So I can give you one present, before I go."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." She says "I think you'll like it."

She reaches into her bag and draws out an envelope. "This explains most of it." She says "And, uh, more importantly, this may be the worst thing I've ever done do you. Keeping this from you, I mean. It may be the worst thing I've ever done."

Tony raises an eyebrow. "How so?"

Whitney swallows. "When I was with HYDRA," she says "they asked me a lot about you, you know, for information. They had a lot on you, you know. From Obadiah. But, you remember I was with Paul for a while? Your cousin?"

"Get to the point."

"He told me," Whitney says, taking in a deep breath "he told me some things. About your family. Things -- I think he was going to tell you, before HYDRA killed him."

"I remember it well." Tony says, slowly.

"So," Whitney says, swallowing "what I'm trying to say, is -- I mean, there's no easy way to say this, but -- hold on. HYDRA knew some of this stuff, okay? But they didn't know -- "

"Whitney." Tony says "C'mon. Please. Stop, stop stalling. Just -- "

"Read it." She says "I don't want to be here when you open it. Also," she says, reaching down and picking up a box from her feet "this. I -- yeah. Don't open them. Not till I'm gone."

Tony blinks. "Whit -- "

"No." She says, standing. "Tony, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I put you through what I did. And... and I can't wait here, waiting for, for -- " she shakes her head "nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Not nothing. It's a fill in word. So I don't have to say what I really want to say."

"Oh."

Whitney ducks her head, smiles. "Okay," she sighs, slightly. "That's me. Promise you won't open them until Jarvis says I've left the building?"

"What? No, why?"

"Because I don't want you to try and follow me."

"I won't."

"Tony."

"Whitney it's not safe. It's not, fuck, I didn't want to say it, but I'm gonna say it, you won't last a day with HYDRA -- "

"Tony I've been looking after myself for twenty years." She says "I became what I became on my own. It wasn't you, or my dad, or my father. If I say HYDRA isn't out for me, then they're not. And," Whitney fixes him in the eye "and if they are, I know how to stop them."

Tony feels his eyes grow fuzzy with a mixture of tears and sudden exhaustion. "Whitney, they will hunt you down and -- they will hurt you. In the worst ways."

"Tony," Whitney says quietly "why should you care?"

"Because I care about you." Tony gasps. "Because -- "

Whitney gently squeezes his hand. "Tony," she says "I saw you at the table today. I don't think you know real life from fantasy. Not really. Not yet."

"I -- "

"I know what Ty did to you. I've seen DreamVision, I know what it does. I -- " Whitney pauses "if you never recover, that's on me. Human lives, Tony, they're all on me."

"I don't care." Tony says fiercely. "They're not my problem. You are."

"I could never figure you out, like that." Whitney sighs "You're so -- everyone's your problem, unless you love them. Then you're willing to sacrifice everything. Tony, I tried to have you -- "

"But you redeemed yourself." Tony says "You -- "

"Listen to me," Whitney says quietly "there is no future for me here. There is nothing I can do. My only chance at, at redemption is a new life, understand? A fresh start. And maybe this time I'll do something worthwhile."

"People will miss you."

"Tell them HYDRA got me."

"Whit -- "

"Anty." She says softly, and she presses a kiss to his brow. "I have loved you for so, so long. And -- and I got angry, okay? It made me angry. That -- I think you can understand that. Feeling... unloved."

"I don't need you to give me excuses." Tony says "I forgive you. I forgave you."

"Right," Whitney says "and so the last thing I'm going to say is stop forgiving people who don't deserve it. You're better than that. You don't need people who treat you like shit, no matter how much they say they love you or even how much you love them. Do not give those people your forgiveness. This includes me. Tony, promise me that the next time someone wrongs you, you don't let them back into the fold. Promise me that. You don't them; you're so much better."

Tony swallows. "I can't promise that."

"Keep it in mind." Whitney says, standing. "Remember: don't open anything till I've left the tower."

"Do you need a car? A -- anything?"

"No. I have money. My ride's waiting for me at the docks."

She stands there, Tony looking up at her.

"So." He says eventually. "So this it, then."

"Yeah." She says, voice croaky. "I -- I will -- bye."

"Bye."

Whitney nods, stiffly. She picks up her bag.

She doesn't say anything else but Tony does hold out his hand. She squeezes it, quickly presses a kiss to his knuckles.

"Gigi." Tony murmurs.

And then she's gone.

Tony blinks, trying to adjust his eyes to the space where she had just been. Had she even been there? All that's left to show is a box and a letter.

"Jarvis," he says "is she -- "

"Miss Frost has exited the premises." 

Tony nods. "Right." He says, reaching for the box. His fingers play over the cardboard. It looks like it was originally made for shoes.

Quietly, he prises off the lid, looks at what's inside. A book. Well worn, old. Tony recognises the style; it's one of those cheap easy-reads you used to be able to pick up at gas stations in the sixties. It's modelled to make it look like it's fancy, but Tony can see it's falling apart.

He only remembers it dimly. The title has almost faded with age, but he's able to make out the red lettering. 'The Little Princess.'

Tony frowns, thumbs open the cover. Written inside, in childish script, are the words 'Whitney Giulietta Frost age 6 and 3/4'. 

Tony smiles. He has a vague recollection of reading this, once. But it was so long ago. He carefully sets it on the bedside table, and something slips out. 

Photos. They make Tony catch his breath.

The first one is of him. He can't be older than nineteen. Sitting in bed, shirtless, the sheets pulled up to his waist. He's smoking, but then again, that's not surprising. Cigarette in hand, his eyes are focused on something else, out the window that casts light over the bed.

Except when Tony moves onto the next one, it's changed. He's laughing, the smoke tight between his fingers, reaching for the camera. Tony, just then, can remember this, because Whitney had been taking pictures on her polaroid, the one she stopped using after it ran out of film and she couldn't figure out how to reset. And Tony had tried to snatch it away. And if he remembers correctly, it ended in some fantastic sex.

He allows himself to smile at the memory, and moves onto the last photo. It's pretty simple; just him, Whit, and Ty. There must be hundreds of photos like this. Where did they all go? How could they all disappear? In between his home being destroyed and Ty --

He doesn't even know where Ty was living. He doesn't even know what he's been doing for the past twenty years. How does he make a living? What does he do? Where -- 

He, Ty, and Whit. Summer. Tony's got his arms slung around the both of them.

Just three friends. Three friends who, who were happy, and ready for anything that life threw at them, and who had no idea what they were going to become, and what it would force them to do.

Carefully, he opens the book cover and slides all three pictures back inside. Opens his drawer and places them inside. They can be safe, there.

Clearing his throat for an imaginary audience, he turns to the letter. Gently cracks open the envelope. Sighing, he smoothes out the paper, eyes flicking to the word at the top of the page.

'Tony,' it begins.

He frowns; reads through it once. Then again.

And again. And again.

He's not -- 

This can't be -- 

Is it a joke? Is this some kind of joke?

This wouldn't, this doesn't happen. It's a trick, it's all a trick. It's Whitney trying to trick him or it's, it's some kind of trap, and, and the address there isn't real, the number is fake, the, the slant of the handwriting is all wrong and it couldn't be, couldn't, not after so long, he wouldn't, he wouldn't, he would never -- 

Jarvis can't be alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> actual answers coming soon, I swear. The thing about this story is that i literally planned about zero percent of it before i started. I kinda knew what i wanted and which characters and where i wanted it to end. Everything else was filler that i got carried away with. So at any given point in the whole damn story i've maybe started a few random plot lines that i've never finished. the fun part is going to be watching me trying to make everything match up.
> 
> which i probably won't be able to do.
> 
> anyway, some emotional reunions coming up, also some death, some emotional un-reunions, which is to again say, death, and any comment you have is super loved!! super!!


	131. Chapter 131

Tony can't quite keep his eyes open for long after that. He takes some pills and wills himself to sleep, to just wait till morning, when he'll be able to decipher if everything was just some kind of hallucinogenic nightmare and Jarvis wasn't still alive and Whitney wasn't gone. 

But he's woken not long after, just as the first cracks of light come streaming through his window, by Steve. Who's face is dirty and flushed but concerned. No -- not concerned, more anguished.

"Steve?" Tony croaks. "Steve? Baby, what's wrong? What's -- "

"Nothing." He says quickly. "Nothing awful. We're all okay."

Tony blinks at the sun, wincing. "You're home early." He says.

"Yeah." Steve swallows. "The base... was abandoned."

"It was empty?"

"No." Steve says elusively.

Tony stares. "So what," he says, reaching for the water at his bedside "there was tech? I can check it out, if you -- "

Steve sits carefully on the edge of the bed. He takes Tony's hand. "We found Stone." He says, quietly.

Tony blinks. "Ty?"

"Yes."

Tony's mouth runs dry. "He's here."

"Rhodey said... that you wanted to find him."

Tony throws off the covers. "Before HYDRA got to him," he says quickly "before they, they could hurt him. No one deserves that, no one deserves -- "

"It was too late." Steve says, not looking Tony in the eye.

Tony stills. "What?"

"It was too late. For that. They, they had got to him."

"And he's -- "

"Alive."

Tony feels himself relax slightly. "Oh."

"But he's not -- "

"Yes?"

"He's not good."

Tony swallows the lump in his throat. "He's dying?" He whispers.

Steve stands, offers out his arm. "You need to prepare yourself."

"Why?" Tony says "Why? How bad is it, is he, Steve is he going to die?"

"He's sick. He might not last the night. We don't know."

"But why -- "

"They tortured him." Steve says. "They've... he's really bad, Tony."

Tony squeezes Steve's arm, feels his head spin. That's not -- Ty can't be that -- Ty can't have been tortured. He's not the tortured he's the torturer. He could never, he wouldn't break, he can't, there's nothing for them to crack, he's heartless and soulless and he can't die.

"I mean it," Steve murmurs on the elevator up to the med bays. "Please, it's awful. Just, prepare yourself."

"Tell me." Tony mutters, hating his weakened body, wishing he could just walk without Steve there, could just walk up to Ty and sit there and show him nothing's changed, he hasn't won, and Tony is not broken.

Steve clears his throat as the elevator doors open. "They've cut bits off him."

"Cut him? Or... cut things -- "

"Off him. Yes."

"Oh."

"There's infection. Like I said, he won't last the night."

"Is he -- "in pain, Tony wants to ask, but he stops himself. He shouldn't care.

Steve stops in front of the door that Clint's guarding. Clint nods, once, gravely.

Inside, there's the beep of a monitor. Laboured breathing. Steve sits Tony down on the chair, the figure under the blanket's chest rising up and down.

"Do you want me to stay?" Steve asks, quietly.

"No." Tony says, softly.

The door closes behind him.

"Ty." Tony says, lowly. "Are you awake."

The breath hitches; the figure rolls. Ty's head lolls to the side, unobscured by blankets and pillows.

Steve was right, Tony thinks methodically. They have cut bits off. Namely, his nose. An ear. One eye. It looks like they tried to take off his lips, too. Hit top one has disappeared, showing his gums. 

Someone has tried to bandage him as best as possible, but it's obvious infecting is rampant. Areas of the wounds that are red, crusted over with yellow pus. Ty blinks one perfect blue eye at him, fingers scrabbling at the sheets.

Tony feels his eyes go fuzzy. He clears his throat. "Are you thirsty?" He asks, quietly.

Ty's brow creases with confusion. His eye closes, briefly. Flutters. He coughs.

"Do you want water." Tony asks again, filling a glass from the pitcher by the side. "Do you understand me."

Ty is pale, drawn, sweaty. It's possible that the infection is making him delirious. Tony puts down the water and reaches for his hand.

Ty blinks up at him in wonderment. His nails dig weakly into Tony's palm.

They shaved half of his hair, so Tony strokes what's left of it from his damp brow. Wets a cloth and lays it over his head.

"Do you want something for the pain?" He asks, and Ty jerks his head in a negative gesture.

Tony nods, and they sit there for awhile.

Eventually, he speaks. "What you did was awful." Tony says. "It was cruel. It lacked humanity."

Ty's one blue eye looks at him.

"But you're -- " Tony swallows. "I'm sorry that this is what they did to you."

Ty continues to stare.

"No one deserves -- " Tony sucks in a breath "if you live, you'll never -- can you talk? Did they do something to your voice?"

Wordlessly, Ty opens his mouth. Tony sees that he no longer has a tongue.

He clasps Ty's hand in both of his, bring it to his lips. "Shh," he says, the comfort strange in his mouth. "It's okay, Ty. It's okay."

Ty blinks at him, frowns. His eyes have always been such a strange colour. Blue, but a milky kind. Like crystal water suffused with sand. Beautiful, yes, but also too unusual. Not right.

"Why did you do it?" He asks. "Why HYDRA, why -- if you were in trouble, you could have come to me. I, I was angry, but I never would have turned you away. I never would have -- "

Ty shakes his head, his broken, sliced face. He makes a clenched fist, drags it across the sheets. Tony frowns. "Write? You want to write?"

Ty nods, and Tony fishes around for a pen and scrap piece of paper. It's the back of a medical form, but it will do. Ty tries to look down at what he's doing but it's difficult, the words scratch all over the page. Eventually, though, he feels like he manages something legible, pushes it to Tony.

Tony tries to decipher the words, squinting:

'Don't be too trusting.' It says. Tony stares at it, then back at Ty. "What," he says "that's it?"

Ty shrugs. He coughs. His mouth makes an 'O' and he forces air past his teeth.

"O," he says "O-ah-iah."

"Obadiah."

Ty nods. He points to himself. 

"You."

"It-ee."

"Whitney."

"Er-arr."

Tony frowns. "Pepper?"

Ty nods. 

"That's not fair, Ty. You can't say that."

"Ack eeow."

"Black widow."

Ty taps his finger against the paper again, as if to emphasise the point. He asks for the pen, fingers twisting, and he underlines the 'too'.

"I don't trust easily."

Ty nods. "F," he says "rend."

"I don't understand," Tony says "you're my friend?"

Ty nods, and then shakes his head with frustration. "Ooo," he says "rust, rust f-rend. Ooo uch."

"I trust my friends too much." Tony repeats, softly.

Ty relaxes, looking relieved that his message has gotten through. He nods.

"What about Steve?" Tony asks, quietly.

Ty taps the paper again. "Ooo uch." He says.

See, this is Ty. Does Ty love him? No. Does he, in some twisted way, care about him? Yes. He's only human.

But Ty doesn't see what Tony sees. He doesn't see hope. Or love. He doesn't see the value of what they had once had, of friendship. He sees enemies, and he sees people he can own. He doesn't understand.

Tony is too trusting, maybe, of people he loves. No matter how many times they slap him, he comes crawling back. Is this a good thing? No.

Is it better than spending your life alone? Obsessive? Trusting no one, surrounded by enemies of your own making? Yes. If Tony is too trusting of people he loves then so be it. It's the price he will pay.

He looks back at Ty. What is this? A last 'fuck you?' Or genuine advice?

Tony clears his throat. "Do you want to die?" He asks. "I think you would want to die. You wouldn't want to stay like this. Damaged. Or -- I know you."

Ty nods. 

Tony looks down. "I don't think I could do it." He murmurs. "Even now. Fuck you, Ty. Fuck you for making me do it."

Ty points a shaky finger to the IV in his arm. Blinks up at him.

Tony shakes his head. "No," he says "no fucking way am I -- "

Ty's eye widens. "Eease." He says "Oey. Ah, ah, ah-eey."

"Anty." Tony says, taking his hand one more. He feels his eyes burning with tears but he fucking refuses to let them fall. Reserve them for Whitney, for Jarvis. For anyone other than Ty.

But it hurts, it fucking hurts because for so, so many years Ty was his rock. He was his best friend. He was his winters and his summers and he gave him a home. And when his parents kicked him out, Ty took him in. He would keep him calm. He would let him share his bed. When Tony was a child, a stuttering, bed-wetting little brat, Ty hadn't cared. And he must have seen something in him. What they had, once, was real. It was. And Tony hates him, he hates him for what he's done and more than that, he hates him for what he makes Tony feel.

"I didn't want this," Tony says, sucking in a shuddering breath. "I didn't -- not you. Ty, if -- I thought, once, that I was going to spend the rest of my life with you. You made me so fucking happy."

Ty closes his eye.

"But then you kicked me out. So I thought, never mind. And you came back, and told me you loved me, but I was older. And I knew that two men can't -- a man like me, I can't do that." Tony pauses. "And I was self-conscious, too. I still am. I won't tell anyone that Steve and I are dating. That's a problem. That's years and years of telling myself that I was disgusting. Not for liking men, but." Tony swallows. "For liking you." Tony closes his eyes. "It doesn't matter." He says "It's my own problem, now."

He stands, searches around for an empty syringe. "You always had to win, Ty," Tony says, frustrated. "Always. It was -- it never used to bother me. I don't know. Maybe I should have -- I should have seen. What you were like. But honestly, I was just so desperate for someone to love me."

He can admit that now, because Ty hasn't got long left.

He sits back in the chair, sighing, search fruitless. "I can't do it." He says. "I can't kill you."

Ty would kill Tony, if that's what it took. He organised that car crash, the assassination attempts. He knew Jarvis was alive, and he never told him. He stood with the group that has tried to kill Steve over and over, that tortures children. Ty doesn't deserve anything from him.

And yet Tony still doesn't want to see him suffer. Death is a good middle ground. It's what he deserves, but it's a mercy, too.

He sees a scalpel, over on the table some feet away. Swallows.

He takes Ty's hand, again. "You deserve death." He says, eventually. "You poor, poor bastard. You poor -- it's the kindest thing."

Ty squeezes Tony's fingers. "Ease." He says, quietly. Breathing must be difficult for him, now that his nose is gone. Tony considers calling someone else in, asking them to deal with it. He has no doubt in his mind that Steve and Clint know exactly what he was called in here for. He's actually grateful that they're allowing him to do it.

Tony clears his throat. "Do you remember how we met?"

"Ony -- "

"Let me remind you. Do you remember? It was at school. And I had... well, I had wet the bed, as I was kinda prone to, back then. So I went to the closet, to go get some towels, and you were there. And I nearly shit my pants, because," Tony huffs a laugh "because I had one friend and I didn't need someone telling all the other kids I couldn't last through the night. Like, how embarrassing, right? But you said it was cool. And you said you wanted to hang out with me the next day. So I was super fucking excited."

Tony pauses. "And I remember," he says "this one time, Boyle was driving me up the wall. And I was freaking out, because of this test, this stupid, fuck, I can't even remember what it was for. How ridiculous? But I was freaking out, because I was scared it would get back to my dad. So I went to you, and you just -- you let me sleep with you. In your room. What went wrong? Were you manipulating me, even then? Ty how clever are you? Were you aware of what you were doing? I mean -- "Tony shakes his head. "I don't know. I don't have anything left to say."

Ty picks up the pen, wobbling words onto the paper. 'Kill me.'

Tony stares at the page, and then back at Ty. He leans forward, and presses a kiss to Ty's sweaty brow. Smoothes the hair from his forehead.

"I loved you, once." He says softly. "I really did."

And then he stands, and leaves. Steve tries to follow him but he goes to the workshop and doesn't come out. That evening, Jarvis informs him that Tiberius has passed away, in his sleep.

Swings and roundabouts. Briefly, he holds a thought for his childhood friend, for the games they used to play. And then he pushes it out of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm gonna try and update at least once a week. Real life is crazy right now, but we're nearly finished anyway
> 
> ALSO DON'T IMAGINE STEVE SINGING TONY 'ALL OF ME' BY JOHN LEGEND DON'T DO IT D ONT DO TI 
> 
> also ty is dead?? thoughts??


	132. Chapter 132

After that, Tony stares at the letter Whitney gave him. 

More than anything, right now, he wants Jarvis. Needs him. Like an ache.

But every time he stares at the number, picks up the phone, he can't do it. Why would Jarvis not have made contact before? If he really wanted to see Tony, he could have. At any point. Whitney gave him this number but he doesn't know -- 

Jarvis doesn't want to see him. Even if he does, it's been so long. The ache has faded. He remembers the pain, but it's dulled, like seeing a film about his own life. He doesn't know if it's worth re-opening the wound.

He tells Steve, who raises his eyebrows He doesn't dispute Tony's decision, not at all. But Tony can tell he's wary about it.

"I just think you might regret it." Steve says. "Even if he didn't want to see you. I think you would regret not being able to say goodbye, properly, one last time."

Tony had shrugged and pretended that the words meant nothing to him and then pushed the letter in the draw next to a cheque from his father he never spent and an unopened letter from his mom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Yes! I know it is a short one. Basically i'm in the process of tying up loose ends, and i just needed to get this little exchange out of the way. Also i don't have much time to write. I can't predict how many chapters are left but basically we're near the end. It just might take a little while to actually finish.


	133. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve does some investigating

Steve has nightmares.

Really, really strange fucking nightmares.

Because sometimes it feels like they're not even his dreams at all.

One night he's looking over a city from the sky. Another he's crying out with pain as a man he doesn't recognise but thinks he should cuts open his chest. He sees flashes of blue and feels overwhelming fear. He hears a man screaming, and the smell of burnt meat.

The dreams pass so quickly it's hard to decipher them entirely. He's not aware of what's happening until one nigh he sees straight into a memory itself.

The scene around him fuzzy, like it's been misremembered. The walls wave, a white fog filling gaps where the mind can't quite fit together the original picture.

There's a cot, and a baby. And then, there's a man, in front of the open window. Straggly brown hair and a black balaclava.

Bucky. 

Rationally, this is moment Steve realises that these are Tony's memories. That he's seeing glimpses of Tony's head all over again, because he's had it all loaded somewhere into his subconscious, and isn't that a miracle. 

It's also the moment he realises that this must be Tony's first memory, or one them. Is it true that the brain never truly forgets pictures? That a face you've seen can be incorporated into a dream? The baby is standing, chubby hands clasping the wooden bar of his cot. 

Bucky's head tilts; he reaches out a hand, as if to curl his fingers over it's head. And then he stops. Draws back.

There's a woman at the door.

Maria is standing there, not moving, braced as if to scream. Bucky's hand moves to his gun, and then his lips. One finger, one gesture. Shh.

Maria just stares at him, eyes wide. She looks from his masked face, to the baby. His face, to the baby. The baby gurgles, bounces slightly. Impatient.

Maria steps forward, and Bucky removes his mask.

She reacts, but only slightly. Her face shows that she knows, she knows who this is. And her hand reaches for the wood of the cot, grasping.

They stare at each other for a long time, Maria barely moving, Bucky's face impassive, shoulders blocking the light of the moon.

"Who are you." Maria whispers.

Bucky doesn't reply. He stands by the window, a dark shadow.

"Tell me." Maria says, and her voice wavers. "Are you here for him?"

Steve doesn't know if she means Howard or the baby. Bucky says nothing, and does not move.

"I -- " she starts, and stops when another figure joins her by the door.

"Go to bed, Maria," the man says, tall, blond. "I can handle this."

"Jarvis?" Maria whispers. "Is this -- is this real?"

Jarvis pauses. "Yes." He decides. "It is. But it's none of your concern."

"Are you -- "

"It's not what you think." He murmurs. "Go to bed, Maria. I'll explain later."

Maria stumbles back, half in shock, half in something else. She shakes her head. "Is," she says "mio dio, is that who I think it is?"

Jarvis looks from Bucky, to Maria, to the little baby. "Later," he says, voice low. "I'll explain."

Maria fades into the white fog, disappears from view. Bucky starts to talk, but the words come out as a drone, a murmur, indistinguishable.

The only clear piece in the room now is Jarvis. Bucky slides away, white fog enveloping his dark figure. Jarvis walks towards the baby.

He clucks his tongue, picks him up. "Tony," he says softly, rocking him gently. "You should be sleeping, little man."

 

Steve wakes up sweating, panting. He slams up, blinking, the scene from the dream disjointed, broken and already hard to piece back together. He catches the drift, though. He remembers parts.

"Steve?" Tony murmurs, sleepily from beside him. "Honey? What's wrong? Bad dream?"

Steve hangs his head, runs a hand over his sweaty brow. "I -- " he starts, shaking. "I don't know."

"Steve," Tony mutters, and he slides behind him, arms joining around Steve's collarbones. "It's alright. It wasn't real."

The mundane comforts couldn't be any less true.

Steve doesn't know how to tell Tony what he saw, or explain it. He's not sure if he wants to. Instead, he clasps Tony's hands with his own, presses his cheek against Tony's stubble.

Takes a shaky breath; "Yeah," he says "yeah. I know. I know, sweetheart, go back to sleep."

"Are you sure?" Tony mumbles, and he's so obviously exhausted. The DreamVision took so much out of him and Extremis hasn't finished clearing the nanites from his system. He needs sleep, more than Steve needs pointless comfort.

"Yeah, honey, I'm sure. Go back to bed."

Tony grip on him slips but he keeps his eyes resolutely open. "You'sure?" He slurs, snuggling down. 

"Absolutely." Steve smiles. "You rest, now."

Steve waits a while until he's sure Tony is deep under once more. Then, he throws back the covers, and gently pads to the door.

 

Steve has never been to Natasha's floor. Ever. And that's strange, because they're close. They're good friends. And this isn't even her building. Natasha is the only one who exercises the unspoken rule that each floor is their own space; she's the only one Steve has never thought to just intrude on.

It's dark, but there are some small lights on. The whole floor has a different smell. The view from the window looks different. Natasha has furnished it to her tastes, apparently. 

He still feels like a massive creeper when he silently makes his way down the corridor. Bucky's room, where the hell is Bucky's room? Fuck, does Bucky have a room? Why would Bucky have a room, they're dating, aren't they?

Steve stops in front of a door that's slightly ajar, peers in. Two bodies, breath rising gently. Steve braces himself, and steps in.

"Bucky," he whispers, edging close. "Buck. Bucky, wake up."

There's no movement from the two figures asleep on the bed. Steve draws closer.

"Bucky," he murmurs, gently touching his shoulder. "Wake up. It's Steve."

A metal hand slams onto his throat, squeezes. Eyes he only just recognises flash in front of him. "Don't touch her." Bucky growls.

Steve keeps his hands lowered, only raising one to cup the metal of Buck's arm. "It's me," he says quietly "it's Steve. I need to talk to you."

Bucky grunts. Miraculously, the message gets through. "It's two in the morning."

"I need to ask you something."

Bucky looks back to the sleeping figure of Natasha, her bare shoulders just visible under the blankets. Back to Steve. "It's two in the morning." He repeats.

Despite the wide berth between them, some things never change.

"I see that." Steve says. "Could -- could you just come? With me?"

Bucky's eyes narrow. "You left Tony." He says "You never leave Tony."

"I do leave -- doesn't matter. We need to talk."

Bucky crosses his arms. He's tied his hair on top of his hair in a little bun. It has the comical effect of making Steve want to take scissors and just chop it off to see what happens.

"Don't be stubborn, Buck," Steve says "you're up now. C'mon?"

"Buck," Natasha mutters "why is Steven in our bedroom."

"He wants to see me."

"Does it involve me?"

"No." 

"Great." She mumbles. "I'm going back to sleep. Shut the fuck up or go."

 

So they sit in the kitchen, lit by low lights. Bucky helps himself to a beer despite it being, as he had previously mentioned multiple times, two in the morning. Steve settles for coffee.

There isn't much for them to say to one another nowadays apart from intel on the next mission. Steve doesn't think too much on that. If Buck is ever ready, then he's ready. And then Steve will take him back with open arms.

Now, though, he raises his eyebrows. "A while ago," he starts "you said that you were told to kill Tony, and you didn't."

"Did I?" Bucky says lazily, sipping. "I don't remember."

"You said that -- " Steve swallows. "I didn't... think much of it, at the time. I was too pre-occupied. But when you were telling as, about how you -- about Howard, and Maria, you said that you couldn't kill Tony."

"Sure." Bucky grumbles. "Probably. I don't remember that time so well."

"But you remember? Killing Howard? What happened?"

Bucky shrugs. "Sometimes memories come and go. I have a faint idea about what happened. Why?" Bucky narrows his eyes. "If, if you're gonna drag me for it, Steve -- "

"No," he says quickly "no. Not that. I just -- " Steve pauses. "Do you ever remember a time where you, where you -- this will sound stupid, I know, but where you climbed into Stark mansion? Through, through a window? And there was a baby?"

Bucky's eyes grow clouded. "I..." he swallows "I remember climbing through a window, yes. It was HYDRA business. For a brief period I was stationed out here, a few years, maybe. I remember that my primary jobs, among other things, was to routinely report back to central command with... yes. Once a week I would climb through a window. I can't remember why, or where. It could have been Stark mansion, sure."

"Was there a baby?"

"Why are you asking me this?"

Steve swallows. "I have dreams." He says. "After... DreamVision. I saw a lot of Tony's head. His memories. Even some I'm not sure he remembers."

Bucky raises an eyebrow. Ever astute, he says "You saw me?"

Steve nods, jerky. "And the butler. And -- Maria."

Bucky frowns. Sniffs, slightly, and the swigs from his bottle. "Yeah," he croaks "yeah, now that you -- there was a baby, somewhere. I can't remember -- I remember something like that, anyway."

"Did you know it was Tony?"

"I didn't even know my own name. But maybe. Who knows. Things get stuck in your subconscious, right? Maybe I knew it was Tony."

"You think it's a real possibility?"

Bucky shrugs. "Sure," he says "why not?"

Steve nods. "And," he says "and the butler. Jarvis. You don't -- "

"Nothing."

"Right." Steve says, and then he pauses. "Well, thank you anyway."

Bucky leans back, looks at him, considering. He sucks on his cheek, raises his eyebrows.

"What?"

Bucky shrugs. "Nothing." He says. "Just -- you."

Is Bucky trying to start something here? "Me."

"You." He says, and he smirks. "You've changed."

Steve narrows his eyes. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Not -- it's not bad. Not in a bad way. You're just... you're more you. So really you haven't changed as all."

"I don't understand."

"For a while," Bucky sighs, leaning forward "you weren't yourself. Back then, you know? When we were fighting."

"The Commandoes."

"Right. You're less... cold. Less cruel."

"I," Steve frowns "was I cruel?"

Do Bucky's eyes soften, or is Steve imagining you. "You weren't the same. War changed you."

"And now?"

"And now he's softened you out again, I think."

"Tony."

"Presumably."

Steve tilts his head to the side, considers. "Yeah," he concedes "maybe."

"It's good." Bucky says "This century. It's a good place to be."

"You really think so?"

"You don't?"

Steve looks down. "It's worth it." He says. "For him."

"Right." Bucky says, murmuring in fervent agreement. "That, and -- war was hell, Steve."

He looks up. "It was bad."

"Was it, though? For you? Was it really?"

"It was... yes. I saw bad things. I lived -- it was bad. After you di -- after, it was difficult. Hard to see a way out."

"You kept going."

"To stop HYDRA. I thought, after the war, it would be perfect. HYDRA would just magically disappear, and Peggy and I... I had it all planned out. I had something to live for, ultimately."

"But it was the glory days for you." Bucky says, blunt. "It was awful, but you took -- don't look at me like that, there was a part of you that liked it. Being needed. Helping."

"I saw terrible things."

"So? We all have. I'm saying that the reason you hate this century so much is because you loved the old one."

"No." Steve says "I don't hate this century. I hate some things, yes. I don't, I'm not idolising where we came from -- "

"I'm not saying that. I'm not arguing. I'm stating a fact, kid."

Steve softens. "You had it worse."

Bucky nods. "Yeah." He says. "I did. What, am I gonna lie? No."

"But -- "

"But yeah." Bucky says. "It's the same. She makes it worth it."

 

Having learnt approximately nothing about the scene in his head, Steve makes his way back down to he and Tony's floor. The sun is just rising, the sky a dark blue tinged with red.

Tony stirs when he slips back under the covers. "Where'd'ja go?" He mumbles into the pillow, not quite opening his eyes.

"Bucky." Steve says simply, sliding down till he lies facing Tony.

"S'it important?" Tony mutters "Do I need t'get up?"

"No," Steve says softly, running a hand over Tony's hair. "You get to sleep."

Tony hums in approval, snuggling closer, pressing his head into Steve's chest. He sighs, like he's relieving a physical ache. "Love you." He mumbles sleepily, hair rough from the pillow.

"Love you." Steve replies softly, holding him in the gentle light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll try and update again this weekend but i have three essays due in for monday. *sighs loudly*
> 
> also sleepy tony is just so amazing god bless sleepy tony is precious and perfect


	134. Chapter 134

Tony finally opens his Dubai tower two months after DreamVision. It's a year overdue and hastily planned but he does it anyway, and it's like getting a fucking mountain off his back.

He has plans, now. Loads and loads of plans. Namely, he's scrapping Stark Industries. It's old. It's his father's, and it was Obie's, and it's relic of a past era. So. Starting now, it is Resilient.

"Resilient?" Steve says. "You trying to send a message?"

"Why, is it too subtle?" Tony drawls, flicking through the tablet. "Tell me, which car is better, this one or the red?"

"Red." Steve says "And I like it. I mean, Resilient. I don't think it's stupid. I think it's a good idea. And I think it's what we need."

"You know what I need?" Tony says, trying to broach the topic as softly as he can. "A holiday."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You want a holiday?"

"I think it would be beneficial."

Steve nods. "Sure." He says. "Why not?"

"Before the wedding? Or after? Hell, we could go tomorrow if you want."

Steve tugs Tony closer, smoothes his hair off his forehead. "After." He says. "Carol and Rhodey can go on their honeymoon and we'll take off somewhere else. Give Buck and Nat some space."

Tony head swims with sudden excitement. Or not excitement, just some kind of jubiliation. He's so in love and everything is just so --

Not perfect. But working. Everything is working, and the way forward is clear. Tony feels _content._

 

So it's not before he feels the niggling for something else. And by not long, he means about a day. It starts because they're sitting down over some drinks (none for Tony, obviously, but you get the idea) and Rhodey and Tony are reminiscing. Or at least, going over the more memorable parts of their college education, much to the joy of their team. 

Rhodey mentions, off-hand, how kids like him wouldn't be able to achieve what he did. That scholarships aren't the same anymore. That it's just wouldn't be possible from someone who's dad earned a low-grade military salary and who's mom stayed at home supporting four children to go to MIT and end up an elite specialised soldier on a team that battles, on occasion, aliens.

And Tony thinks about his school, and how awful it was, and he thinks about Whitney and Nick and all the other kids there who were left by their families. About children who come from that same background but don't even have the money to back it up.

And then he thinks about his old home, sitting empty and abandoned of Fifth Avenue. What a stupid place for a home. It's too central. Not really a great place for a family.

But if it was used as a week school for kids who's families were unstable. Who could get five days at school, no distractions, and then go home for the weekend.

Well.

 

So he shops around and figures out what he needs to start a school. Turns out, not much, if you're rich. Even though he has zero experience, he manages to find some old hands who know the business well enough. It will, technically, be private. Tony will just be paying the fees for the students. As well as living expenses. Books and food and whatnot. 

It'll be good. Kids getting a education, what could be better?

Anything, according to _some_ media outlets who brand Tony racist, from the dot, because the majority of the areas put up for enrolment have a high non-white population. It makes him laugh, because the thought that giving underprivileged children an education could be racist is the most surreal thing in the world to him. But what does it matter? Fox news doesn't have a say in any of it.

 

So he's busy, with plans, and schemes, and occasionally dragging a suit out of his bones to fight terrorists. 

He makes time for Steve.

"Did I ever tell you," he says, sighing as he pushes his head into Steve's lap "how amazing you are?"

Steve looks down at him, raises an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." Tony says, and he closes his eyes. "I mean, I know I often allude to your, your pecs of justice, and your dick of -- "

"And?"

"And." Tony says, opening his eyes, looking into Steve's face. "And I just want you to know you're a really, really great guy."

"Thank you, Tony."

"I mean it." He says, sitting up. "And I don't say it enough. I say, you know, I love you, but I don't let you know how _fantastic_ you are."

Steve softens. "You're amazing too."

"Sure," Tony says "but you -- Steve," Tony takes his hand "you know, you woke up, in a different century. If that had been me... I would have finished it. No, don't look at me like that, I couldn't've have coped. And you -- it must have been so fucking hard, for you, those first months."

Steve blinks. "Yes," he says slowly "it... it was."

"Right." Tony says "And you still -- you helped me. For some reason, you saw me, when I was, you know.Last year. When I wasn't... great. You saw that. And you chose to be in a relationship with me."

"Tony," Steve says gently "I still love you."

"I know!" Tony says quickly. "I know that. I just -- " Tony swallows, and braces himself. "So what are you hiding from me?" He asks.

Steve stares. "What?"

"You're hiding something." Tony blurts. "I know it. There's something not right. You leave at night, sometimes. Are you, are you having nightmares? Is, are mine keeping you up? Because we can do something about that, if -- "

"Tony."

"I mean it, Steve." Tony sits up, and he stares him straight in the eye. "Don't lie to me. You can't lie to me, remember? The cardinal rules, no lying, no leaving and no stealing the sheet from my side of the bed."

Steve nods, eyes growing distant. "Tony," he says "there is nothing wrong. I swear. I -- yes. I've been having some strange dreams." He swallows. "But it's not for you to worry about."

"Maybe we need a holiday." Tony mutters "Maybe that is what we need."

Steve does something very strange, then. He takes Tony's chin in his fingers and kisses him. 

Hard.

Tony blinks, makes a shocked noise, fingers scrabbling against Steve's shirt until, yeah, he leans into it. Then it's just a flurry of movement, he's tugging Steve shirt off his back, trying to tackle him onto the bed.

"What," Tony breathes, shucking off his pant "the hell."

"Shut up and kiss me." Steve says, and then he lunges for him all over again, taking his cheeks in his hands and fucking his mouth with his tongue. Tony's legs feel like putty, his head spinning, and he pushes Steve back against the bed until his legs fold and they collide onto the soft sheets.

They're legs tangle; Steve spits in his hand and tries to work a grip around Tony's cock. He moans, throwing back his head, and turns them so Steve is underneath and Tony is sliding down his body, taking his half-hard cock into his mouth.

Steve groans "Oh, Jesus."

"No, my name is Tony." He grins against Steve's belly. "But 'God' is also acceptable."

Steve slides back from Tony's hot mouth, drags Tony up to sit on the bed, opposite him. He pulls him back into a kiss, guides his hand to his cock, and starts to drive his hand over Tony's length. Both of them are moaning into each other's mouths, hot and wet, their chests pressed together and their hands slippery with pre-come and spit.

Steve's hand goes behind Tony's waist and Tony's free hand cups his head and they stay there, locked by passion and each other's bodies, each of them getting closer and closer to climax.

"You gonna come?" Tony pants against Steve's lips.

"Yeah," he says, fucking loosely into Tony's hand. "Nearly. Nearly there."

Steve works his thumb over the tip of Tony's cut cock and he spills over his hand, groaning. Steve follows a moment after, both of them panting, breathing hard, flushed, sticky bodies collapsing in a pile of limbs and sex and heat and sweat.

Tony lies there, over Steve, just breathing. What the hell was that? Where did that come from? Steve's hand lazily teases it's way over the back of Tony's head, his cheeks flushed pink from exertion.

He raises his head, looks down at the man beneath him. "What were we talking about?" He mumbles.

Steve makes an exasperated sigh, throws a pillow at his head. "I was trying to take your mind of it, genius."

"I don't want my mind to be off it," Tony says sleepily, sliding so he lies next to Steve, propped up on his arm. "I want you to tell me truth."

"And I did." Steve says "I'm having strange dreams. But it's nothing that you -- you don't need to worry."

"I won't." Tony says. "C'mon. When have you ever known me to be _anxious?"_

Steve snorts. "I mean it." He says "I've had bad dreams before, Tony. You don't need to worry."

Tony smoothes Steve's hair back from his brow. He frowns. "You wouldn't," he says, haltingly "you wouldn't hide something from me if you thought... if you thought it would worry me, right?"

Steve takes his hand. "Of course not, Tony." He kisses his head, tucks Tony closer. "I don't think I could keep anything from you."

Tony pauses, frowning. He's right, probably. Steve doesn't know how to lie. Still -- 

" _Fuck!"_ Tony grunts as he's attacked by a 150lb ball of pure fluff. Fucknut pants loudly, worming his way between he and Steve, settling himself happily into the tight gap and sticking out his tongue, proud.

Tony makes a disgusted noise, because dog fur and bodily fluids _does not work_ and now he's going to need a bath and everyone knows how that went _last time._ "You fucking imbecile." He says, scratching along his back. "Why do I even have you?"

"Mmm," Steve says "what idiot got you that dog?"

"I know, right?" Tony says, trying to heft him onto his lap. "Fuck, he's so _heavy --_ "

"You should ask the kennel if they still have records of his parent's breed." Steve says casually. "He might be a mix of something."

"You said he was pedigree!"

"I lied. Clint thought you'd be more likely to take it -- oh, don't look at me like that."

"Untrustworthy. Slander. Who are you, Steve Rogers?"

"All I'm saying is he might be something bigger. Maybe his mom was great dane or something."

"You'd be able to tell, right?"

Steve shrugs. "Not necessarily? I don't know. He might just be fat."

"He's not fat! Stop calling him fat!"

"Tony."

"No! He is not! If he's chubby then he's chubby, but he gets walks everyday and I never feed him off the table -- "

"Well that's a lie."

"I never feed him regularly off the table."

"Better."

Tony hums, scratches behind the puppy's ears. He should put on some pants. Sighing, he stands, pads naked over to his chest of drawers and rummages around.

Steve is propped up on one arm, admiring the view. "You know," he says "I don't say this often enough, but... you have a really great ass."

"Calisthenics, my friend."

"Yeah I bet." 

Tony shucks on some pants, jumping around the room. "Which reminds me," he says "we're having a party. I won't say stag-do, because that sounds awful, but yeah. Rhodey told me to ask you t o ask Sam, if I could remember. Which I have. So ask Sam."

"And this reminds you of Calisthenics because...?"

"It's an expression."

Steve sighs. "There goes the moment."

"Your hiding something from me, Stevie." Tony says, muffled by the tie in his mouth as he zips up his pants. "And I'm going to find out what."

"Hard to figure out something that doesn't exist."

"Oh, just watch me." He smiles, but he can feel it being stretched a little too wide on his face.

Because Steve is lying to him. He knows that. And he's going to find out what it is, even if it kills him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't even estimate when this is gonna end. Like I started this chapter and thought 'wow, there must only be like three left??' and then i remembered that steve is lying to tony about Jarvis and the dreams and i was like 'damn why did i write first and plot second'


	135. Chapter 135

Steve is aware that he is lying to Tony.

He knows that.

And he will tell him. He'll tell him all about his dreams, and Jarvis, and Bucky and Maria. But until that point, he needs to find the answers himself.

He doesn't think Tony needs that, right now. Not with everything that's going on. Not with the wedding, the school, HYDRA, Resilient. Tony hasn't really given himself time to recover from DreamVision.

Which is why it isn't shocking when one evening, Steve wakes Tony from a nightmare.

He's not thrashing. It's not a ten on the night terror scale. Steve has seen Tony scream and kick and punch while still sleeping. Now he's just curled up, face slightly crumpled, make soft, scared noises. 

Steve sighs, easing himself onto the mattress. "Tony," he says softly "sweetie. Wake up, it's Steve."

His eyes open almost immediately. He stares at Steve in the low light

"Is this another game?" He murmurs. He lifts up his head, shouts. "IS THIS ANOTHER GAME, TY? IS THIS ANOTHER GAME?"

"Hey," Steve says, going to touch him. "Hey, Tony, it's okay. It's okay, you're home now."

"I'M NOT STUPID, TY!" Tony screams, head tossing as he searches the room. "YOU CAN'T KEEP DOING THIS!"

"Tony," Steve breathes "Tony please, this isn't one of those. We're back, definitely. You're home, I swear. I'm not lying to you."

Tony whines, low and long in the back of throat. "Stop it." He spits, breathless "Ty that's sick, stop."

"Tony," Steve says "look at me, look, look. Think. You remember? You're out of DreamVision, you're out. There's no -- "

Tony pushes him away. "Stop," he breathes "stop, Ty, I've heard it all before. I've heard it -- what do you want from me? What do you want? Leave me alone, leave me -- "

"This is real, Tony. This is all real."

Tony bend forward, wails, presses his hands to his eyes. "Stop it," he gasps, breath verging on panic "fuck, oh fuck, please, I thought I was out, I thought I was -- "

"You are out, Tony."

"No!" He pants "No, I'm not, I'm -- areyou lying to me? What's happening? Ty, tell me the truth, tell me -- "

"Tony," Steve says, urgent, taking his head in his hands "I mean this. Remember. Do you remember? You got out. Think of, think of Resilient. Of your new school. Me, Tony, think of me. Rhodey and Carol, they're getting married. They're going to be married, Tony, in two weeks! Remember?"

"That's what," Tony swallows "that's what you said. You said 'remember, remember' I -- how do I -- "

"This is real, Tony." Steve says, pressing a kiss to his brow. "I swear. Trust me. Just trust me."

"No," Tony gasps, low, voice lost, "no it's too -- Steve? It's too good. There's too much -- Resilient? School? I couldn't -- this is all a trick, isn't it?" And he starts to worm his way out of Steve's grasp "It's all a trick. You -- " Tony swings round and lands a fairly impressive right hook on Steve's cheek " _DON'T TOUCH ME!"_

Steve's grip slips enough for Tony to scramble to the other end of the bed. "Is this how you get a fuck now, Ty? You pretend you're Steve? That's low." Tony spits "You sick little freak, you sick little -- "

"Tony!"

"ENOUGH!" Tony roars "ENOUGH, TY! Tell the truth. Tell the truth, let me go, please. Please I can't take a single second more of you, you -- "

There's a blurry of yellow and then Dog is worming his way into Tony's lap. He pants, rolls he massive bulk over Tony's knees, sits, and nudges at Tony's face.

Tony freezes. 

His hands tangles in Dog's fur, and he stares at it like he's not really seeing him.

He blinks.

Dog licks lightly along Tony's jaw, his ear, his cheek. He whines.

Slowly, tenuous, fragile, Tony raises his eyes to stare at Steve.

He swallows, and then blinks.

"Steve?" He croaks.

"Yeah, Tony."

"I'm so sorry." He whispers. "I'm really sorry."

"It's okay."

"No it's not."

"Yes, it is."

Tony is still staring at him like he can't believe he's real. "I really -- " he starts "I fucked up."

"No." Steve murmurs. "It's okay. You just -- it's okay."

Tony swallows. "He used to do that. He'd, he'd pretend I was out. In there, he could make it feel like months had gone by. And there were times I thought -- I though I'd been out for years. And then it would be him. Just him."

Steve inches closer. "Did he do anything else to you?"

Tony shrugs, distant. "I saw awful things."

"It isn't your fault."

"Did I say that?" Tony snaps "I don't always think that, Steve."

Steve raises his hands. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise, you haven't done anything wrong."

Steve hangs back. "Do you -- " he says "can I hold you?"

"I'm so tired." Tony says, in lieu of answer. "I want this to stop."

"What?" Steve says softly.

"The nightmares."

Steve nods. "Maybe they won't."

"Maybe."

"Shove off," Steve says to Dog "go on. He's mine, now."

That gets a small smile from Tony, at least, he lets Dog take his space at the foot of the bed, curls into Steve's arms. "I hit you." He says.

"You thought I was Stone. I actually applaud it."

"You're too nice."

"Nah. I just really love you."

Tony snorts, but doesn't say anything. They fall into silence.

"Did you cremate him?" Tony asks, eventually.

"Who."

"Ty."

Steve sighs. "Yeah." he says.

"And the ashes -- " 

"I don't know."

Tony seems to accept this. "He wasn't always bad."

"Don't do that, Tony."

"But you should know."

"I don't want to."

Tony buries his head into Steve neck and then he's sobbing. "But he was my friend," he says "you don't understand he was my _friend."_

Steve is too shocked to react, sitting stiff while Tony curls his hands in his shirt. "Hey," he says, "hey, Tony, no, no don't -- hey, I didn't mean -- "

Tony doesn't say anything, he just keeps shaking, crying. It's a hopeless, unending noise of fear, and loss, and -- 

"We," Tony sobs "we -- he wasn't always so bad, he wasn't always -- "

"I know," Steve says "I'm sure. I'm sure he wasn't."

"He didn't deserve what happened." Tony croaks "He didn't deserve that."

Steve can't agree, so he stays silent, strokes Tony's head. It occurs to him that Extremis was damaged by whatever Stone did to it. That maybe it's not regulating Tony's moods anymore.

"Tony?" Steve says softly "can I see you?"

Tony leans back, and his eyes are red rimmed, his face wet and flushed. "It's stupid," he gasps "I know it's -- I can't stop thinking about -- "

"I know." Steve says again, because he's doesn't know what else to say. "Don't worry."

"You and Barnes," Tony says "it's, you wouldn't -- "

"It's not the same."

Tony pulls back. "Not the same?" He says "Not the same? Because, because my friend didn't fall from a train, what? How is it not the same?"

Steve's stuck his fucking foot in it now. He doesn't know how to explain. "Stone was... he was manipulative, Tony."

"Manipulative? So what? So am I? You think your friendship's so special, Steve?"

"I think that you can't know what was real with him, Tony." Steve says, voice not so soft. "And it's, it's dangerous, and stupid for you to still -- you're idolising him. You're holding up this figure of the boy he used to be and acting like it validates everything he _did_ to you."

Tony scrambles back. He laughs, but it's low and bitter. "Your best friend is a murderer, Steve," he growls "your best friend killed my parents. Your best friend was brainwashed by HYDRA. You don't see me complaining. I am willingly allowing the man that _decapitated my father_ to live in the same house as me."

"That's different and you know it."

"It's equatable. They both did awful things. What Bucky did, in the long run? Far worse, but he was forced. I, Ty was, he was coerced, I know it. He wouldn't -- "

"Stop." Steve spits. "Stop. You think Ty was forced? You're deluding yourself, you crazy bastard. You're _absolutely_ deluding yourself, Tony, he didn't love you, he was _obsessed_ with you, those are two _very_ different things."

"You don't get to say that," Tony says, fiercely "you don't get to say he didn't love me, what do you know? Nothing. You don't know anything, you weren't there, you're standing here and you're making sure I know that Ty didn't love me you, you fucking _bully,_ what's wrong with you? You think, you think, you think I don't know, I don't know, I don't know -- "

"That's not what I meant." Steve backtracks "It's not about -- I'm not saying you weren't lovable, I'm saying -- "

"Ty was the only thing I had, Steve, he was the only thing, but you're pretty insistent that it wasn't real, that I was just, I -- "

"NO!" Steve says "Ty wasn't the only thing! Whitney loved you! She was an awful person, but she loved you! And you can't say that she didn't because she sold you to HYDRA because Ty did the exact same thing! This isn't about love, this is about you being desperate, Tony. This is about you _needing_ love, and you ignore the people who really care to, to chase after some -- "

"I didn't love her like I loved him!"

"You didn't love him."

"I fucking did. Like, like an _ache."_

Steve stares. "You didn't." He says again.

Tony shakes his head. "Fuck off, Steve." He grunts, turning. "Just -- fuck off."

He doesn't even slam the door behind him, just closes it gently. It's the middle of the night. Steve makes sure he's heading for the workshop, and then slumps.

He should leave him. Let him calm down. They were both wound up. Tony's probably stressed, he'd just a had a nightmare. He'd just had a nightmare and -- 

And Steve had just screamed at him. Not screamed, but he hadn't comforted him either. Who was he to tell Tony how he feels? Why -- 

Bucky, he decides. He keeps thinking about Bucky. How could Ty be like Buck? How are they the same? Did Tony -- did he really ever feel that way about Ty? Were they really ever that close?

Steve has always held his relationship with Buck to a high standard. For awhile, he didn't think he'd ever feel that close to another person again. Maybe it had hurt Tony when Ty had kicked him out, but doesn't Tony see that it's because Ty didn't care? That he was playing games? Why can't he see that? _Why can't he see?_

Jarvis would have loved Tony. He should have been there. Steve feels a visceral anger at the man, because he left. And he had dealings with Bucky. How much did the Stark family know? Was Jarvis HYDRA? Did Maria hide it from Howard all those years?

He decides that there is one definite answer to his problems.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think i'm gonna take tony and stebe to hawaii after this. Idk they can go surfing, make hot passionate love, eat ice cream.
> 
> Also do any of you have instagram?? i know that's a weird request but i really want to follow you guys!! i'm [satansbac0n](http://instagram.com/satansbac0n/), follow or drop your username in the comments??


	136. Chapter 136

Tony is still fuming when Clint knocks on the workshop door. He hastily wipes his tears with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, hating himself for crying, like he's a twelve year old who's been called stupid in the playground.

"What the fuck do you want." He grunts, not in the mood for anything. He wants to stick a knife in Clint's eye and see how he feels, maybe. Not place nice and be poked at for the amusement of Clint Barton.

Clint holds up his hands. "Just checking in."

"Check in somewhere else."

"Well that would defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?" Clint leans against the car Tony's working on, dabbles his fingers along the bonnet. "You've been crying." He says, bluntly.

Tony spins, throwing his spanner, aiming for Clint, but missing, sending it in the other direction. "NO SHIT!" He spits, chest heaving. "Wow, the fucking eyes on you!"

Clint raises his eyebrows. "Right," he says "well moving on. Come spar with me."

"Spar with yourself."

"Don't be such a baby. Come spar with me. You've stopped jogging, have you noticed that?"

"And?"

"And it's good for you."

"To jog."

"Yes." Clint says, tactfully. "Also your dog is getting fat. Sort it out."

Tony grits his teeth. "Get out."

"Aww c'mon, Tony. Don't you want to punch something?"

"I want to punch you."

"Perfect!" Clint says, holding out his hands. "C'mon. Get dressed and meet me in the gym. It'll be fun."

 

It's not fun.

Clint is relentless. He keeps punching him over and over, and getting in hits. They're not hard, but the whole point is Tony is supposed to be able to block them. And he can't. He's slow and useless and he keeps gritting his teeth with frustration because Clint is just too fucking fast and he wants to mash his face in.

"So you and Steve had a little argument." Clint says, ducking out the way. 

"Shut the fuck up." Tony spits, and it just makes him want to pummel him even more.

"Can I ask what it was about?"

"Your mother." Tony snaps, just snatching at Clint's sweatshirt, trying to drag him to the ground. "Would you stay still?" 

"Tag. Got you." Clint says, slapping Tony's shoulder. Tony tries to bat and him away and then "Tag. Got you again."

"Stop it!" Tony spits. "I mean it Clint, stop or I swear I'll -- "

"You'll what?" Clint mocks "Nearly catch me again?"

Tony cries out in frustration and wheels his arms, just aiming to hit Clint where he can. "Stop it." He says "Stay still!"

"Nope." Clint says, ducking. "Try again. Try harder."

Tony slams his hands into Clint's shoulders, fingers twisting his shirts. "No," he says "no, you shut the fuck up."

Clint blinks at him. "Okay," he says slowly, raising his hand "whew. Someone's a little... testy."

Tony thinks his fingers might be digging into Clint's shoulders but he ignores it. "You're an ass." He spits, shoving him away.

"Hey," Clint says, grabbing his wrist. "Don't just walk. Listen to me."

"Why, so we can play your fucking, your fucking juvenile games? No thanks."

"So we can talk." Clint relents. "I need to talk to you."

"I'm fine."

"We're worried you're a little manic." Clint says bluntly. "That's it. That's all I'm saying. Is it true?"

Tony swallows. "Did Steve ask you -- "

"Steve doesn't know." Clint says softly. "We haven't asked him what he thinks."

Tony sniffs. Folds his arms. "And what if I am."

"Is it possible that Extremis isn't regulating your... you know. Is it possible that whatever Ty did damaged that?"

Tony shrugs, nonchalant. "Maybe."

"Then don't you think it's time to go back on medication."

"It's different this time."

"Ah," Clint says "how so?"

"I'm." Tony clears his throat. "I'm happy."

"And you weren't before? With, with Pepper? And Iron Man? Weren't you happy then."

"... I was."

"And then something went wrong."

"Yes."

"Or," Clint says carefully "maybe your moods went down. And that made it worse."

"Are you pretending to understand?" Tony says, coldly. "'Moods went down'? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I'm not a fucking elevator."

"Wrong words, but you catch my drift, Tony."

"I catch nothing. You're worried about nothing."

"Talk to Steve."

Now, Tony narrows his eyes. "No."

"Tony you argued. Suck it up, it happens, move on."

"He's wrong."

"Is he."

"Yes."

Clint waves a hand. "I'm sure." He says. "I don't know. Whatever you say, Tony. But figure it out. Don't let this one slip by."

Clint walks past, waves in hand in goodbye. Tony calls after him.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!"

 

He figures it out a few hours later, after he's cooled off.

Steve as right.

No -- not entirely right. In fact, he was wrong. But Tony said some things, about Bucky. Some things he should not have said.

So it follows that it is his turn to apologise.

He makes his way to their floor, swallows his pride. Stands in front of where Steve sits, and clears his throat.

 

"The last time we argued," Tony says "I was kidnapped. So I figured I might as well try and give this one a resolution."

Steve blinks. Tony's hair, for the first time, is soft and fluffy. There's no product. Without it, his hair is curly, loose ringlets piled on the top of his head. 

"I see why you keep it short." Steve blurts. "It's -- yeah."

Tony rubs the back of his head self-consciously. "I -- " he starts "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry."

"Well then we're both -- " Tony swallows. "Sorry."

Steve reaches forward, and then draws back. "I shouldn't of said... those things. About you. And Ty. I don't understand what you see in him -- what you saw in him. I won't apologise for that, at least."

"No," Tony mumbles "you were right. I -- I just want to believe. I." He looks down. "I don't know." He says. "Maybe I just wanted to delude myself, you know? Delude myself into thinking. That. That someone loved me, back then. That I wasn't. I don't know."

"Tony," Steve says "I didn't -- "

"I didn't mean what I said about Bucky. That was, it was stupid. I was angry. I am, I am fully aware that he was brainwashed, and that... and that they did awful things, to him. And I'm aware that it's in no way the same as whatever reason Ty chose to get into bed with HYDRA. I'm also -- " Tony bites his lip "I'm sorry that I loved Ty. And I wish I could take it back. But I was young. And yeah. I loved him. I really did. And don't tell me I didn't. I'm not some kind of, some god. I made a mistake, a real big one. But I do it a lot. I trusted Obie and look where that got me. I -- I trust people. And it doesn't work out. I -- I am rambling." Tony laughs, nervous. "Look, what I'm trying to say is I'm sorry. And not in half-delirious I-just-had-a-nightmare and I'm working on instinct kind of sorry. Like, in a, I've sat down, and I've thought this through, and you were right. So there."

Steve swallows. "Thank you." He says. "It wasn't necessary. But thank you."

Tony seems to relax. "So I'm gonna hug you now." He says, holding out his arms. "And you're gonna take it like a man."

Steve lets Tony squeeze his arms around him, and it reminds him why they usually do this the other way round; Tony's arms are pretty short around Steve's shoulders.

"Shut up," Tony says "I know you're thinking it."

Steve leans back and places a chaste kiss on Tony's lips. "There's something I need to tell you."

Tony blinks. "That sounds ominous."

Steve sighs. "We should sit."

Tony raises an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?" He blinks. "You're not -- you're not breaking up with me, are you?" He blurts.

"No." Steve says. "Never. But there's something I need to say. Are you listening? Don't be freaked out."

"Don't freaked out." Tony breathes, breath harsh. "Not -- it's not, you're not sick, are you?"

Steve decides he's gone about this the wrong way. "It's nothing terrible." He says "Nothing... that can't be sorted."

Tony swallows. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. You know -- after DreamVision. I felt... you. I felt your memories. I saw, Tony, I saw everything."

Tony's face pales. "Really."

"Yes. Yeah. It wasn't -- I can't remember it, I couldn't just rifle through your memories. But at night. I." Steve swallows. "I've been leaving you, and I'm sorry. But I've been having nightmares. And they're not my own. I, sometimes I'm in a cave. And there's man, cutting open my chest. Or I'm floating in space. I've never been in space, these are things -- I see myself die, over and over. I see -- "

"Stop talking about it." Tony hisses.

"Sorry." Steve says "Sorry. Tony, I had a dream. And I don't know how accurate it is because, well, it was a dream. But I think it might be more than that. So I need, I need -- "

"Say it."

"Do you ever dream about Bucky?" Steve blurts. "In your room? Have you ever -- "

"What the fuck, Steve. No!"

"Not like that!" Steve says quickly. "Not like -- I mean, Bucky in your bedroom, and then, uh. Jarvis. And your mother. Have you ever -- "

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Did Bucky, do you remember ever seeing Buck climb through your window?" Steve asks, feeling like a fucking idiot, because he's asking Tony to remember something from when he was a few years old. "Do you ever remember that."

Tony stares. "Through my window?"

"Right."

"My window."

"That's what I said."

Tony swallows. "First of all," he says "fuck you for not telling me before."

"I'm sorry."

"Secondly, no. I don't have any recollection of Bucky standing at my window." Tony pauses. "But I have a nightmare." He says. "I have -- a nightmare."

Steve sits up. "About a man at my window."

"About a man at my window." Tony murmurs, staring somewhere beyond Steve's head. "I always have. Since I was a child."

"Do," Steve clears his throat "do you think it's possible -- "

"Tell me what you saw."

Steve swallows. "It, Bucky."

"Yes."

"And your mother."

"My -- "

"She was shocked. She asked him who he was. Jarvis appeared. Told her to go back to bed."

"And?"

"And said he would handle it."

Tony stares at Steve for a long, long time. "And then?" He says, voice small.

"And then, I don't know. They talk. You can't -- I can't catch it. And then Bucky is just gone. And Jarvis picks you up."

"Next?"

"Nothing. I wake up."

Tony isn't looking at Steve at all. He's staring somewhere far, far ahead.

"You think Jarvis was -- "

"I'm not saying that." Steve counters, gently. "There are plenty of explanations."

"Did you talk to Bucky?"

"He said, he says he remembers a window. And he remembers a baby."

"So it's almost definitely true." Tony croaks. "It happened. Jarvis is HYDRA, Jarvis was -- "

"No," Steve says, steadying Tony with a hold on his shoulder. "No. No don't say that, Tony."

"But it makes sense." He gasps, sucking in a deep breath. "The, the hiding, the not telling me he was alive, my dad, how he just, how he left and my dad -- he wouldn't talk about it, any time I brought it up he was just so silent I couldn't -- "

"It doesn't mean he's HYDRA," Steve says "it doesn't. What about your mother, Tony, you think she just forgot about it in the morning? If Bucky was climbing through your window on the regular -- "

"Shut up." Tony says, standing. "Why would you tell me this? Why? Why would you do that, I -- I apologised. I apologised. Why would you even tell me this, ruin it for me, I don't want to know."

"Tony."

"No fuck off, Steve. Just -- " Tony's eyes are roving, desperate. "You fucking ruined it for me."

"Call him." Steve says. "Call Jarvis. Sort it out. Go on, Tony, go on."

Tony swallows. "No." He says, voice hoarse. "No. That's behind me, Steve. Do you know how hard I worked to put that behind me? I'm not -- reopening the wound. I won't do it."

"Don't you want to know?" Steve says, desperately. "Your mother, your father, Jarvis. Don't you want anything to make sense? Don't you want -- "

Steve expects Tony to snap. Instead, his voice goes quiet. "My family is my business." he says. "It always has been. And I would like you, of all people, to respect that."

Steve looks at him for a long time. Tony shifts on his feet, playing with his nails. Eventually, Steve drags him close. "Okay." He whispers. "Okay. I understand. It's, it's an old wound. You don't want to drag it back out. It's your family. I respect that."

"Thank you." Tony mumbles, folding into him. "That's all I need to hear."

Steve smoothes his hair back from his brow, smiles down at him. "Come on," he says "you need a shower."

"Clint worked me hard."

"He does that, doesn't he?"

"He thinks I'm manic."

"We," Steve sighs "let's talk about it after, yeah? Let's have a shower, and go to bed, and we can talk about it there."

It sounds heavenly, and Tony must agree, because he relaxes. "Yeah." He says. "Yeah. Let's do that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things: 
> 
> First of all, 50,000 hits!! You guys!! So cool!!
> 
> Second, I predict there'll be about five more chapters?? It depends on how much I break things up. They might be long, I don't know. In fact it could be more than five chapters. Ignore me.
> 
> Thirdly, literally any comment you could give would be greatly appreciated right now. We have guests staying at our house for two weeks and it's incredibly awkward for me, plus they've taken my room. PLEASE idk how many of you write fic but if you do you know how much comments make your day!! ugh. It's so awful right now. I need it to snow.


	137. Chapter 137

Tony has no cause to be so nervous. None at all. He, after all, is not the one getting married.

"Fuck," Rhodey says "fuck, this is a disaster. Quickly, Tones, blue or gold?"

Tony shakes his head at the two ties. "Blue. We agreed on blue, why would you -- "

"Jan said something about matching napkins?"

"Screw the napkins." Tony says "Stick with blue."

"Screw the napkins." Rhodey mutters. "Screw the napkins, screw the napkins, screw the napkins."

"Hmm," Tony hums "that sounds healthy."

"I'm nervous."

"You should relax."

"You're such an amazing best man I literally don't even know what to do with myself."

Tony grins, swipes open his phone. "Oh don't worry, I know."

Rhodey tilts his head in the mirror, feeds the tie under his collar. "Looking sharp?" He asks.

"Sharpest." Tony says, smiling. "Very... wedding chic."

"You should hope."

Honestly? It's Tony's way of getting through this. Fuck, Rhodey's getting married. Fuck.

"How many times have I joked about this?" He murmurs, shaking his head. "Do you remember how we met?"

"I was looking for girlfriend." Rhodey says, fiddling with his cufflinks. "Michelle."

"Hmm." Tony hums. "It was a Saturday morning. I was smoking."

"You ate cereal out of the box."

"God I was so hardcore."

Rhodey snorts. "You remember graduation?"

"We went for dinner."

"And Chrissy Martin's parties?"

"The worst."

Rhodey shakes his head. "Christmas, '91?"

"My parents died."

"Yes they did. Do you remember that week?"

Tony winces. "That was," he pauses. "That was a bad week."

"Yeah," Rhodey agrees "I had just broken up with Georgina."

"Not quite what I was thinking of, but I guess you're not wrong."

Rhodey's hand hits Tony's shoulder with a steady thump. He sighs, straightens his tie.

Tony raises an eyebrow. "Any excuse to touch me, right?"

"Shut up." Rhodey says, mildly. "Your tie is wonky."

They fall into silence.

"There." Rhodey says, tugging it once last time. "Good to go."

"Shouldn't this be the other way around?"

Rhodey hums. "Nah. Not much could stop me from -- looking out for you."

Tony raises an eyebrow, and says nothing else. This is about as close as they will ever get to admitting that they care for one another.

"I've got the ring." Tony says, breaking the silence.

"Great." Rhodey says, checking his shirt in the mirror. "Nearly there."

Tony joins him. "When -- " he starts. "When did we get so old."

It's true. They're not the boys they once were.

Rhodey's hand on his shoulder is a solid weight. He clasps it, briefly. Squeezes, in solidarity. 

They stare at their reflections.

"Right," Tony says, suddenly, brisk. He rubs his hands together. "Here we go."

 

The guests are all seated, and there are a lot of them. Somewhere, outside the gates of the house they're holding it in, the press are waiting like vultures, desperate to snap a shot of bride and groom.

The guests? Jan and Clint, arguing over which seat belongs to whom. Natasha and Bucky, both sitting cooly one seat in from the centre. Happy and Pepper, who has a new ring on her finger. Steve. Bruce. Thor. Jane Foster. Some of her cheapo friends who managed to scrounge an invitation. The bride's family is nowhere in sight, but her maid of honour, Jessica, is making the eyes at Steve in a way that makes Tony want to rip off her head. 

Rhodey blows out air, shifts from foot to foot. "You nervous?" Tony asks, standing next to him, hands clasped in front of him.

"Nervous?" Rhodey says, voice high. "No. No, not. Nervous."

"Really?" Tony says "Because you sound, you know. Kinda nervous."

"I'm not nervous."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Then what is it? You got the fidgets are something?"

"Honestly? I really need to shit."

Tony squawks, which leads into a cough. He gets a narrowed look from the Chaplain and carefully controls it, which is when the music starts.

"Fuck," Rhodey says "fuck, is she there?"

Tony turns. "Yup."

"What does she look like?"

"Well, not to infringe on your territory, but mighty fine."

Rhodey blows out air. "Fuck I really need to shit."

"Do you think you could control yourself for a moment?"

"Do you think I could make it?"

"Absolutely not, eyes forward."

"Tony I'm not gonna shit my pants in front of everyone."

"Damn right you're not."

"Fuck, why does this take so long?"

"Could you keep it down? Maybe? Because you're pretty loud." Tony hisses.

"Ohmygod." Rhodey chatters. "Tony, this isn't a joke."

"It's a nervous shit, it'll pass."

"When have you ever known me to shit nervously?"

Carol coughs, slightly, elbowing Tony out the way. "Right," he mutters, stepping back. "I'm going, I'm going."

He takes his place next to Steve. "What going on up there?" He whispers.

"He needs to go toilet."

Steve winces. "Ouch."

"Yeah. This'll be good."

 

But they exchange vows without incident. Meaning that Rhodey manages not to shit himself on stage.

It's a long island reception, the height of summer. Tony watches Rhodey and Carol dance, and everything feels good. It feels right.

Not even in a manic way; in a real one. He can see his friends milling around, his family. He's never had a real family before. Fuck, he's getting sentimental in his old age.

Someone taps him on the shoulder. "Do you want to dance with me?" Steve asks, voice low.

Tony's mouth runs dry. Dance. Together. In front of everyone. He and Steve. 

Word will travel, fast. The press will know by tomorrow. 

He takes Steve's hand and they dance.

 

After, Tony stands on the balcony overlooking the ocean. Fishes out his cigarettes, and takes a long drag.

He never actually did stop smoking. Is that bad? Probably. He stopped drinking, crack, everything else. He lets himself keep this. One every few months hurts nobody.

He feels someone approaching behind him but doesn't react. Either another guest, looking for Tony Stark, or a friend. It doesn't matter. Tony blows out smoke.

"That was brave." Carol drawls behind him.

Tony smirks. "Yeah, well." He says, taking a drag. "Had to happen some time."

"You kinda stole the spotlight at my wedding, you know."

Tony fishes out his pack. "Smoke?"

"No thanks."

Carol stands there, and she's still in her dress, veil shifting slightly in the ocean breeze.

"You know." Tony says, turning back to the sea. "Rhodey once told me he'd like to be married by twenty-six."

"He missed it by a few years, then."

"Just a few." Tony grins wryly. "It didn't do him any harm."

"And what about you, Mr Stark. You got any big plans?"

"What, you mean Steve? Nah. No. No, no that's -- no."

Carol smiles. "Sure."

"It's, you know. It's easy. I mean, I don't feel the need. I've been engaged before. It didn't go so good."

"And Pepper's ready to give it another shot with your man in there."

Tony sighs. "I think... maybe Happy was the guy for her all along."

"You think?"

"He would be willing to devote time. I'm... I don't know. I expect my lovers to just keep up with me."

"How does that work out?"

"I've had two successful relationships, and the first one tried to kill me. Not great."

Carol pauses. "I'm sorry, about him."

"Don't be."

"I know. He was an ass. But I can't imagine anyone's told you they're sorry for your loss, either." Carol takes a deep breath. "Because you are mourning, aren't you. Aren't you?"

"In my own special way."

Tony goes for a laugh but it hurts too much. He swallows it down.

"My dad didn't show." Carol sighs. "There's a fucking surprise."

"You don't get along?"

"That's an understatement."

"Can I ask why?"

Carol shrugs. "I was a straight A student. My dad promised my brother college if he didn't drop out. He went, I didn't."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. Which, you know, would have been okay if I hadn't enlisted."

"But look at you now."

"Exactly!" Carol says, and there is pride there. "Look at me now. Sitting on a balcony with Tony Stark, married, baby number one along the way."

Tony throws his cigarette into the ocean on reflex. "What?!"

"Jim didn't tell you?"

"No, Jim did not fucking tell me!"

"Oh. Well I'm pregnant."

"Shit," Tony mumbles "ah, fuck." He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. "How long?"

"Three months. Honestly? Did you not wonder why I had to switch to the baggy dress?"

"Why would I notice that? I'm not, I'm the fucking -- Jesus, seriously?"

"Obviously we don't want to tell everyone, just in case. But, uh. Yeah. That's it."

"Fuck," Tony mutters "well, uh, congratulations. Christ, I wish you'd said when you saw me smoking like a chimney."

"Relax." She says, laughing, hand curving over her stomach. "Tony you're more stressed then me."

"Yeah, because it's a baby. It's a little Rhodey. God, how weird."

"You've never given it much thought?"

"I can't actually get pregnant, so."

"Not even with Pepper? You never thought...?"

"No."

Carol shrugs. "Not for everyone, I guess."

Tony exhales. "Look," he says "I'm sure, I'm sure Rhodey'll be a great dad. He's got that vibe around him. It's really not my scene."

"What's not your scene?" Steve says, peering out the doors. "Carol, Jan's looking for you. I'm not getting involved."

Carol sighs. "That's my cue." She says, kissing Tony's cheeks. "If I don't see you before the honeymoon, have a nice vacation."

"Vacation?" Tony blinks.

"He didn't know yet." Steve winces.

"Whoops. Looks like your getting lot's of surprises today, Tony."

"Jesus," Tony mutters, turning back to the sea. "Fucking eventful."

"Carol told you the news?"

"Did everyone know except me?"

"Nah. I overheard them talking."

"So," Tony sighs "vacation?"

Steve grins. "Sorry," he says "it was gonna be a surprise. Late birthday present."

"Steve you already got me a present."

"Sure, but it's my birthday soon too. So actually, it's a present for me. Sorry. You're my excuse."

"Damn," Tony says "I should have known."

Steve smiles. He wraps his arms around Tony's shoulders, presses him to his back. "You know, everyone will know we're together."

Tony shrugs. "I don't care. I'm proud."

"Proud?"

"Yeah, sure. I'm dating Captain America, what's not to be proud of? Besides, I'd like to see HYDRA hold the whole gay thing over me now."

"You're not gay."

"I know that." Tony peers back, up at Steve. He sighs. "So where are we going?"

"Hawaii."

"Ooh. Fancy."

"I heard you like surfing."

"I used to. Used to be damn good, too." Tony looks away. "I miss California."

"I never would have had you down as a LA guy, you know."

"Not -- not LA. Just, you know. The beaches. My home. I miss it. Fuck, that goddamn asshole had to go and blow it up. I lost everything."

"Not everything."

"A lot. I lost -- you know. I built that house from scratch. It was supposed to be the antithesis of New York."

"And yet here you are."

"Here I am."

"I -- " Steve presses a kiss to his hair. "I love you."

"Yeah," Tony says "yeah, I love you too."

The waves continue to move. There's a murmur of chatter from within. 

They stand there for awhile, and then go back inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I SWEAR NOT LONG NOW


	138. Chapter 138

They leave for Hawaii two days later.

"Commercial?" Tony says "Really, Steve? Three private jets and you want to fly commercial?"

"I wouldn't call first class exactly 'commercial'."

"You wouldn't." Tony grumbles, flicking through the inflight magazine. "Did you know that there were 155 plane crashes in 2012? 155, Steve. My planes don't crash."

"Did you know that on average eight people are killed by cows a year?" Steve supplies.

"Literally how does that help."

"I don't know, just putting life in perspective."

Tony groans, closes his eyes. "Fuck, I don't want to watch."

Steve blinks. "Tony, are you... afraid of flying?"

"No." Tony says, quickly. "Not flying. Just -- planes that aren't flown by me."

"It's really a problem?"

"Apparently. I mean, I used to fly commercial, you know, when I getting to and from college. But after that... do you think it's rude if I ask to fly the plane?"

"A little."

 

But the villa is worth it.

It's a private stretch of coast. Golden beach, crystal water. Marble and wood and glass. It almost makes Tony want to cry.

"Did I do good?" Steve says, bracing his hands on his hips.

"Yes you ass." Tony mumbles. "You did good."

It feels like home and that night, before dinner and as the sun sets, they swim. 

 

When Steve wakes up the next morning, the bed next to him is empty. For a moment, he panics, because empty beds are synonymous with nightmares. But then he sits up, and sees the note.

'Beach' Tony has written 'back by ten.'

Steve stretches, smells the salt and flowers in the air. He pads out onto the heat of the balcony, braces his hands to look at the water.

Tony's out there, paddling on a board. The swells aren't huge, but it doesn't look like Tony minds. He just keeps swimming, pushing out his board until he stops, climbs on, and sits.

Steve waves, but maybe he doesn't see. He watches Tony clamber to his feet, try and keep his balance, only to be knocked off. Steve winces, but Tony just climbs back on.

He makes his way down to the kitchen overlooking the ocean. "Tony!" He calls, waving. "You eating?"

Tony just about notices him, wheeling his arms as he swims back to shore. He's good. Steve didn't know he could swim like that. It occurs to him that he's never seen him before.

"Morning," Tony says, grinning, wet from the sea. His hair is pushed back on his head, curling with the water and salt. Steve can see that by the time it dries it'll be tight. He presses a quick kiss to his forehead, and they make their way to the kitchen.

"Pancakes?"

Tony shrugs. "Something simple."

Steve starts frying some eggs, puts on some toast. "You have fun?"

Tony's still only in his swimming trunks. He looks up, smiles slightly. "It was nice to in the water again."

"I don't see you swim. I mean, you know. I've never seen you swim before."

Tony sighs, hums. "I -- you know. I was tortured, in Afghanistan."

"I... have some idea."

"Water just wasn't as fun. I'm not -- you know, I'm not scared of it. Just didn't quite get the same thing out of it."

"You don't really talk about it." Steve says, sliding two eggs onto Tony's plate. "You've never mentioned it before."

Tony meets his eyes. "Yeah." He murmurs "I've never told anyone."

"About the cave?"

"About those first few days, that first week. No. No one."

"Will you tell me?"

Tony shrugs. "What do you want to know?"

It shocks Steve, maybe, the brevity of it. Something Tony's kept so close for so long and he's willing to just... share.

It highlights his trust, too. Steve notices that. He doesn't forget it. And he doesn't want to waste it.

"You're scared of surgery."

"There wasn't anaesthesia."

"It hurt."

"I've never felt anything like it. I wanted to die."

Tony says this while spooning egg yolk into his mouth. Steve blinks.

"That first week... they waterboarded you?"

"Among other things."

"I didn't know." Steve murmurs.

"Yeah, well." Tony flicks his eggs around his plate with the end of his fork. "I've never talked about it. I promised myself I would never talk about it."

"That bad? I mean -- "

"Yes, 'that bad'." Tony snaps. "It wasn't a fucking vacation, Steve."

Steve holds up his hands. "You've never mentioned it. It's not on file. Tony, if you don't want to talk, I don't want to force you."

Tony looks down. "Shit," he says "sorry. I didn't want to... snap."

"No problem." Steve says, but they fall into silence.

Eventually, Tony pushes his plate away. "I'm going surfing."

"I'll come with you."

"Alone."

Steve stares at him, but doesn't push it. Let him cool off, and then they can talk.

 

But Tony is sullen at dinner. He forces conversation to a point that Steve just gives up. "I'm going to bed." He mutters.

"You do that." Tony grunts, and Steve can hear him violently shoving plates into the sink as he leaves, metal and ceramic crashing and cracking. Steve wants to tell him to be careful, but he's a big boy.

 

The next morning, Tony is fine. They laugh, and swim, and talk. There are no arguments, but by lunch, Tony is fuming again. Steve asks if he wants to go into town and he acts like he's asked him to chop off a leg. "Yeah well how about I don't want to?" Tony spits "Why can't we just stay here? What's wrong with just staying in, why do we have to do anything?"

Steve placates him as best he can, tries not to fight. He's starting to think that maybe, the behaviour can't be helped. 

"Tony?" He says, that night in bed. "Tony, honey. Did you bring medication with you?"

"For what?" Tony says idly, flicking through the tablet.

Steve pauses. "Your mood."

"What's wrong with my mood?" Tony snaps. "Fuck off. You think because I'm not licking your ass there's something wrong with my mood?"

"I'm not gonna argue, Tony, I'm just letting you know."

"Yeah well I'm fine."

"If you're not, you know you can tell me, right? I can sort something out, there must be a pharmacy in town."

Tony throws the tablet onto the bed. "Fuck this," he says "fuck you. I get one holiday in a decade and your response is, is to say I'm going crazy well fuck you. Just let me relax, Steve. It doesn't have to be about you."

"About me?" Steve says, shocked that Tony could even come to that conclusion. "In what way, shape, or form, is this about me?"

"You -- leave me alone, Steve. Let me relax."

"I am letting you relax, I'm giving you space! I've barely seen you over the past few -- "

Tony stands, and walks out.

Steve blinks at the space where the door had slammed, not quite comprehending what's happening. Is Tony -- is this it? Is he on his way down? Something else? He can't tell, he doesn't know. How is Steve supposed to know? He, he arranged this holiday, because Tony hasn't had a break in so long, and now -- 

"Tony!" He calls "Tony! Hey! Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Tony viciously throws on a shirt. "Out." He spits, trying to barge past Steve's block on the door.

"Out?" Steve repeats "Out? Why? Where? Have you not had enough free time, is that it? You didn't want to go into town earlier."

"I didn't want to go with you." Tony growls. "There's a difference."

"Me?" Steve says incredulously "Me. Fine, Tony. Fucking fine. You go do whatever the hell it is you want to, you're a grown man, I don't need wipe your ass for you." Steve turns, slamming the placemat down onto the table as if that makes it any better. Fuck, Tony, he's this, this gorgeous, insatiable, brilliant, temperamental, impossible -- 

"I wasn't asking you to." Tony mutters, strapping his sandals.

"Is there a reason, Tony? Is there something I need to know? Are you okay? Because I've asked before, and it doesn't seem to be sticking. Clint said you were manic, is that true? Is it? Are you gonna tell me the truth?"

Tony stands. Pauses. "I'm fine." He says.

"Fine." Steve snaps. "Sure. Okay. You go do whatever it is you want to do, Tony, don't let me hold you back."

 

Maybe Steve shouldn't have shouted. 

Maybe Tony should tell the truth.

It's frustrating beyond belief, and impossible to understand. They had been happy. Tony had been happy. More than happy. When they'd arrived, he had practically been vibrating with it.

He switched after they talked about Afghanistan. Is that it? Maybe that's it. Steve doesn't know. It's the early hours of the morning and Tony isn't back yet. Should he look for him? It's not a dangerous place. But maybe he's got himself into trouble. Tripped over a rock, drowned, fallen down a ditch, hit by a car. Fuck, anything. Steve shouldn't have let him go, it's windy, and he doesn't know the area well.

He's not a child. He's survived practically everything you can throw at a person. He's cooling off. Steve doesn't need to look for him.

He goes anyway.

 

"Tony?" Steve calls over the rush of waves. "Tony! You out here? Come on, Tony, come on. Come home."

Steve's worst nightmare is finding his bloated body washed up with tomorrow's tide. He bites down panic, and moves away from the shore. "Shit," he mutters "Tony! Tony I'm sorry! Can you hear me?"

He nearly trips over a log, but it's lucky he did, because huddled behind it is Tony. He's brought his knees up to his chest, brow pressed against his shins, and his head hidden by his cardigan. Steve stares.

"Tony?" He says, tentatively. "Are you -- "

He looks up. His eyes are red. He brushes them hurriedly with the back of his hand. "Steve," he blurts "Steve. Hi. I -- I was coming back. I was coming. I just..."

"Are you... okay?"

Tony tries for a smile, but he swallows it down. It looks like he's about to break out into tears. "Fine." He croaks. "Are you -- will you sit?"

Steve sighs, slumping down next to him, sand cold without the sun to warm it. "You shouldn't have run off."

"I shouldn't've have shouted."

"You gonna tell me why?"

Tony shivers. Steve wraps his arm over his shoulders, lets his head rest on Tony's. "I -- I don't know."

"Really? Because it sounds like you do."

"I'm angry. At myself."

"Why?"

Tony swallows. "Have you ever -- this is going to sound awful."

"Say it."

"Have you ever stopped looking forward to things?"

"I -- I guess." Steve says weakly.

Tony drags his hand through the sand. "I really, really wanted to come here." He says apologetically. "I had it all planned out in my head, everyday. I was gonna do breakfast, surf, swim. There were so many things I wanted to do. And I -- it's not you."

"But?" Steve says. "Tony, you were okay. You were good, better than good. What happened?"

Tony shrugs. "I -- " he starts "it's hard to explain. But one moment I was thinking about how much I wanted to surf. And I was out, there, on the ocean, and I couldn't -- I don't know. What's the point? I just thought, what's the point. What's the -- nothing mattered, then. Just like that. I had been so happy, and then... nothing."

"You're angry?"

"At myself. Not at you. I know I take it out on you. I just, I'm so mad. I don't know. Mad that I can't enjoy this. That you've gone to all this effort, and I can't -- "

"Tony." Steve murmurs. "It's not your fault."

Tony sucks in a breath. "Yeah." He says. "I know."

They don't say anything else. Tony falls asleep, pressed against his side, the sun rising over the ocean. Eventually, Steve hitches a hand under Tony's legs, supports his shoulders, and carries him gently, sleeping, back to the house.

 

It doesn't magically fix anything. When Tony wakes up, that afternoon, he refuses to get out of bed. He doesn't shout, just says, in a low voice, that he's tired. He rolls over so he doesn't have to look out the window.

Steve knows he shouldn't indulge this, but short of carrying Tony to a sunbed he doesn't know what to do. It makes his despair, and he can tell that Tony feels guilty. That evening, he apologises, says honestly, he was just really tired, and he'll be better tomorrow, he promises. They can go out, into town, like Steve said. It'll be fun. 

And he does drag himself out of bed, the next day, but he's sullen about it. Steve grits his teeth, reminds himself that it's not Tony's fault, and quietly enquires at the local pharmacy if he can fill out Tony's old prescription.

 

The packet hits Tony in the side of the head. "Take them." Steve growls. "That's it, just fucking take them. I've had enough."

Tony's eyes widen. "Where did you get these?" He spits "Did you go behind my back?"

"You're bad, Tony, understand? And there's only so much patience I can bring. Please, Tony, please, listen to me, I'm begging. Take them. I can't help you, I can't fix this for you. You need, you need to be proactive."

"Fix this for me? Fix it for me? As if I, what, I don't fix my own problems?"

Steve rubs his eyes. "No," he says "but you don't seem to want to fix this one."

Tony stands, throwing the pills back at Steve. "I was happy!" He says "I was happy until we came here! It's not me, Steve, it's this place. It's here."

"That's ridiculous and you know it. Have you just forgotten what you told me? You're low, Tony, it happens, it's a part of your life, you need to learn to deal -- "

"Deal? Steve I've been dealing all my life. I, I got through everything without meds before and I don't need them now."

"You used them last time." Steve points out "You took them after your breakdown. God, remember that? Your breakdown? Or have you conveniently edited that from your memory too?"

Then they're both just screaming at each other. Maybe Tony kicks over a chair and maybe Steve throws a plate. It's hard to tell. They're both just so angry, and it's impossible, and just last week they had been so, so happy. Steve doesn't know where it went wrong.

Or he does. He doesn't love Tony any less. He accepted this, years ago. He accepted that Tony could be temperamental. And he's accepted that he won't always be his best.

But it still fucking hurts when Tony screams that he's shit, he's awful, that he doesn't love him, he doesn't love him at all, that this is his fault, it's his fault, clearly, because Tony had been so happy before they came here and the only logical explanation, apart from Tony's mental disorder, is that clearly Hawaii is to blame.

"You're irrational." Steve says, tiredly. "You're being irrational."

"No," Tony says fiercely "you're not listening! You're ignoring me!"

"Because you're not making sense." Steve says quietly. "God. Tony, this isn't -- "

"I was happy." Tony growls. "You ruined it. That wasn't me. That was you."

Steve groans. "God," he mutters "okay. Okay, fine. That's it. We don't have to do this, Tony. Hawaii did this, right? Well then let's go. Come on. I'm leaving. Go pack, let's get going."

Tony swallows. "No."

"Fine." Steve snaps. "Well I'm going anyway. You want to be alone? You take that time, Tony, you spend some quality time with yourself, because that's exactly what you need, to be alone with your thoughts. You know -- " Steve shakes his head "I don't mind this. I don't mind the moods, and the anger, and everything else. I know it's not you. I know it'll pass. You can call be whatever you like, and it doesn't change anything, because I know you'll regret it the next day, you'll realise what you've done, and it won't be you. But this? Purposefully not taking your meds? As if you're above it? No. No, I can't do that, Tony. Not at all."

He turns, makes his ways up to their bedroom. Tony doesn't follow, not straightaway. Steve just starts piling clothes into a suitcase.

"Wait," Tony says, "hold on. Just -- just wait. You don't need to go."

"I think I do, Tony. I think I do. I'm going home. If -- when -- you snap out of this, get back to me. I'll be all ears."

"No," Tony says "just, c'mon. You don't need to leave, Steve, sweetie. You just -- I'm sorry. Forget it, I was wrong."

"I'm going, Tony. The vacation's over."

"Let me come with you." Tony blurts "We can go together."

"I think we need the break."

"The break?" Tony says, voice cracking. "Break? You really -- Steve, I'm sorry. I'm really really sorry. I can't, I can't control it, you know? I can't -- don't go."

"I'm not breaking up with, Tony." Steve mutters. "Just separate flights."

Tony sucks in a breath, pushes his hair back on his head. "Shit," he breathes "shit, don't go. Please don't go."

Steve turns. "What other choice do I have?"

"Stay." Tony blurts. "Just stay. I'll be on my best behaviour, I'll do everything. I'll stop spending the day in bed, it's not fair to you. I can tone it down, I think. I have practice, right? C'mon, Steve."

Steve slumps. "I don't know what to say."

"Please don't go."

He stares at the packed suitcase, and then turns, looks at Tony. "I don't know." Steve says. "I don't know. Let me sleep on it."

"Yeah." Tony says, enthusiastically. "Sleep on it. And we can talk about it properly, tomorrow. I swear."

Steve grunts. "I'll take the spare room."

"I'll take it." Tony says "It's fine. Don't -- don't make me push you out of bed. I'll take it, there's -- "

"I'm packed." Steve says. "It's easier, if."

"Oh." Tony swallows. "Well, I can, I can unpack?"

"What's the point?"

"You, You'll -- "

"I'm going to go to bed." Steve says, carefully. "And I hope you will, too."

Tony blinks. "I can't -- Steve?"

"Go to bed, Tony." Steve says softly. He reaches forward, hand cupping his cheek. "It's okay. Just -- some space, just for tonight. You calm down, okay?"

Tony looks troubled, his skin flushed, pupils blown. "Right." He murmurs. "Just for tonight."

"Of course." Steve says, putting on a smile. "This is normal. Couples argue."

"Yeah." Tony says, nodding. "Yeah."

 

"Steve," he hears, on the edge of his consciousness. "Steve. Steve."

Steve jolts awake. "Who's'ere?" He mumbles, hand flapping against the mattress. "'Ony? Tony? You there? You -- "

"Yeah." Tony whispers, voice hoarse. "I."

Steve forces himself awake, sits up. "You're supposed to be sleeping."

"I -- " Tony swallows. "I had a nightmare."

"Oh."

"Look, I know -- I know we're supposed to be having space, but could I just -- could I sleep with you, now? I took the pill, okay?" Tony holds out the packet, one pocket's metal film busted and empty. "I swear I took it. I don't think... I really, really can't do tonight alone."

"Oh, Tony." Steve mumbles, folding him into his arms. "Shit, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You took it though, right? Well that's it. Problem solved."

"Not really." Tony says, leaning his head against Steve's shoulder. "It doesn't fix anything."

"No." Steve says. "It means you're trying. And that's all I need."

"I had a really, really fucking awful dream."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Okay." Steve says quietly, stroking down his hair.

Tony pulls away, and there are tears him his eyes. "I'm just -- " he says loosely "I'm sorry. For being such an ass. And I know I've said it before, but -- I am. And I'm tired. Extremis, it fixed so much? And then Ty... you know. Things are different. The undersuit doesn't even work like it used to. Whatever he did, it scrambled the code. I don't know if I can get it back."

"I think you could." Steve says quietly. "I know you could."

"I would... really like to stop feeling this way."

"Are the highs worth the lows?"

"No." Tony says. "Never."

"Maybe it's too much too soon." Steve murmurs. "The school, Resilient. Maybe you bit off more than you can chew."

"No." Tony says, looking down. "No it's not that. I would -- it's a high work load, but I'm used to that. And I have time for it. And it's something I enjoy. I don't want a repeat of last time. I don't want to freak out, do something stupid, like, I don't know, scream at the press in my dressing gown or something."

"That won't happen. You have me, now."

"That's true." Tony smiles. "I have you."

"Do you love me?"

Tony stares at him, appalled. "Do I love you? Do I -- Steve! Do you think I don't? Is it, have I -- Steve, of course I love you. More than anything, more than -- "

"A simple 'I love you back' would have sufficed." Steve teases.

Tony blinks. "Oh." He says. "Oh. I -- I thought you were trying to catch me out." He laughs, nervously, eyes slipping shut.

Steve closes his eyes, presses his head to Tony's brow.

He makes a decision.

Leaning back, he fumbles with bedside cabinet. Inside he has lots of important things. Passports, tickets, emergency credit cards.

"Tony," he murmurs "could you, could you open your eyes?"

Tony blinks at him, sleepy. "What is it?"

Steve feels his throat close up. "I was -- honestly, I was saving it for later. I had it all planned properly. We were gonna go for dinner, for a walk. It was going to be good. But I -- if we leave tomorrow, I still want you to know it doesn't matter, okay? Because even if we have to leave, and even if you think it's your fault, I don't love you any less."

"Steve." Tony says. "Steve. That's -- I'm not -- this is crazy. You're crazy. You can't, you're, this is a huge mistake."

Steve holds the finger between his fingers. "I could say a lot." He says. "Mostly -- Tony, I love you. And, I want you to know what that means. So I'm going to ask you to marry me, and you're going to say...?"

"Yes?" Tony blurts. "Yes. Fuck, yes. You idiot, you fucking, fucking idiot. I can't believe -- "

"Is it good thing?"

"Good thing?" Tony says, running a hand over his eyes, quickly pushing away tears. "Yeah it's a good thing, you, you dork. You, you jerk. How could it not be? How could this ever be a bad thing?"

Steve presses the ring into the palm of Tony's hand. Simple, solid gold band. Nothing too fancy. No vibranium engravings or arc-reactor jewels. Steve wants his love to mean more than that.

Tony starts sobbing, and then Steve starts to cry, too. And then they're both crying, in their underwear, at three am in the morning. It's awful and perfect and Steve wouldn't change a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end.
> 
> Nah I'm kidding. So that's that. Honestly not long left to go, now. I really crammed a lot into this chapter and I'm not sure how it turned out at all. Seriously any feedback you have would be such a MA-HOO-SIVE help.


	139. Chapter 139

They stay, in the end. Tony isn't better, necessarily, but he makes the effort. Most days, they lie on the beach. If it's a good one, Tony will surf.

Steve makes the decision to draw the vacation to an end slightly early when Tony's nightmares reach a difficult point. Without Dog to prove that he's in reality, Tony gets confused. It's harder to get him to see that he's out of DreamVision without the fluffy yellow lump to help them out. So they leave.

Things are tricky. Tony snaps. He's irritable. Sometimes, all he can do it lie in bed. Other times, he cries, held in Steve's arms, trying to articulate something he himself doesn't understand.

So Steve makes the decision himself. He chooses the way forward. And if Tony doesn't agree, then he'll do with that. But unless Steve makes his move, he'll never know.

 

Bucky has changed.

He's sitting in the kitchen when Steve piles down after their flight. Bent over a computer, typing rapidly. He's surrounded by sheets, coffee, and someone has cut his hair. It's short, not quite the same way it used to be, but no way as long as it has been allowed to get after they had --

You know. Got him back.

Steve clears his throat and Buck looks up, smiles once, and then looks back down at the screen. "I'm working."

"I see that." Steve says. "More coffee?"

"If you're making any."

Steve yawns, filling pot with fresh grains. He's tired, jet-lagged. Tony's still sleeping, but Steve doesn't blame him. He hasn't had a good night in awhile.

"I heard," Bucky says, pen in his mouth "that you and Tony -- you know."

"We did."

"Well congratulations."

"Thanks."

Back into silence. It's not uncomfortable, but it stands to highlight that they don't have much to say to one another anymore. Steve hears the boiling of the pot, the scratching of Bucky's pencil, the tapping on the keyboard.

"You working on something?" Steve says, stirring in sugar.

"I -- hah." Bucky laughs uneasily. "Yeah. We were trying to -- I was, I was trying to remember. Things. Places, names, that sort of thing."

Steve looks up, but doesn't turn round. "Oh yeah?" He says, casually forced. "And how's that going?"

"It's... going."

Steve places their coffees on the table, takes the seat opposite. "We miss anything big?"

"Nothing that you don't already know. HYDRA's running scared. I think we've got them this time."

"Any major holdings still left?"

Buck sighs. "Yeah well isn't that the problem." He mutters. "We think so. I think so. I'm sure there are places we haven't got yet, there are still safehouses left. I just don't know how to get at them. I remember things, vaguely, but it's not accurate? I don't know, Steve, it's hard."

"Don't push yourself."

"I need to. I want to. It's good for me, remembering. Nat says -- " Bucky clears his throat, doesn't quite meet Steve's eye. "You know. She said it helped her. To remember. Taking time to put things in order."

"Is that what your..."

"Doing right now? Sure." Bucky passes him a sheet. "You remember this, right? My drawings aren't as good as yours, but -- "

"That's my monkey."

"Right?" Bucky says, grinning. "I got it somewhere. Like, I recognised it from somewhere, you know what I mean? But it's about getting it down, fixing it properly. I remember you showed me this a few weeks after -- we were talking about, uh." Bucky pauses. "War bonds? No. Uh, one of your shows?"

"You had a nightmare." Steve says, quietly.

"Oh." Bucky says. "Oh. Well," he laughs nervously "I didn't remember that."

"You seem better." Steve says, sipping his coffee. "It's -- you're good."

"Maybe." Bucky concedes. "Maybe I am. Or maybe I'm getting there, Stevie." He pauses. "Mostly, I'm just -- I don't know. Not a day goes by where I am not... supremely grateful that I made it out. That I'm here. That I'm living in, in a comfortable home, and I have this gorgeous girl, and a life. A career? I don't know Steve, doesn't that give you hope?"

"It did." Steve says. "It still does. After I woke up... I had nothing. For so long I couldn't do the simplest things. Breathing was... it became difficult."

Bucky shakes his head. "And -- to be blunt, right, everyday was torture. I have lived a life of, of torture, for so, so long."

"Buck -- "

"No shut up. Because we don't talk anymore and that's, well that's what it is. You're busy, I'm, I'm busy. For a while, I was healing, that took time. But Steve you searched for me. You and Sam and Nat. You really, really searched. And I know, because I was watching. You didn't give up on me, and I can't -- I can't repay that."

"You don't have to." Is all Steve can manage, because his throat is thick with something else. He doesn't want to talk about this, doesn't want to confront it. Time has moved on.

"I mean I can't show you what that means. I'm not surprised you looked for me, Steve, I know you. You do what you think is right. That's, you know, not a bad thing. And you're a good guy. And I'm grateful for it. That you searched. And gave me a home."

"That," Steve clears his throat "I mean, that was Tony. And, and Nat. Not just me. It wasn't only me."

"Yeah, but you were only one who really mattered." Bucky says, off-hand.

"Why did you come to me?" Steve says "After you dragged Tony from that car, why then? Why not before? If you knew I had been looking for so long -- "

"Because you needed me." Bucky says simply. "Because I thought... in my head, I was still unsure how'd you react. And I could offer help, if I could help you take out HYDRA, then, well, you wouldn't get rid of me. Kill me. For what I did. To you. To Howard. To all those people I killed. I shot Nat. That, on it's own, is unforgivable already." 

"You didn't think -- "

"Does it matter what I thought? I'm here now. We all are. And Steve, I'm happy. I haven't been happy in seventy-six years."

Steve nods, buries his head into his cup. Bucky is happy. Bucky is happy. Bucky is happy, and so somewhere, something was worth it. Something worked.

And just like that, Bucky stops being his burden. Bucky is happy. Steve feels almost euphoric with it, because Buck's okay. Bucky is alright.

"Why did you help him?" Steve blurts. "Tony. When HYDRA was trying to take him out, why did save him. When he was shot in the neck, the time at his cousins. The car. You kept saving his life. Was that for me? You couldn't have known I loved him. Hell, I didn't even know I loved him. Why -- "

"He was on your team, I knew they wanted him. I could have told you, but... I didn't. I figured it would be better to save his life from afar. I didn't want you to find me."

"With..." Steve leans forwards, lowers his voice. "With the butler." He mutters "Jarvis. You kept -- "

"It's hard for me to remember."

"How many times did you crawl through Tony's window?"

Bucky winces. "I think I was meeting him for a good four or five years. We decided it was the best place because I think the rooms on the other side of the house. Howard and Maria slept in another wing entirely. And Jarvis was close by."

"And was he," Steve lowers his voice even further, as if Tony will hear him by sheer force of will. "You know. HYDRA."

Bucky's face is pained. "I... don't know. I really, really don't. I'm sorry."

It's frustrating, but Steve needs to know, even if Tony wants to forget. "Tony says he doesn't want to re-open the wound."

"He won't call him."

"I don't even know if he still has the letter."

"You won't ask?"

Steve looks at his mug. "Not with how he is right now."

"How is he?"

Steve shakes his head. "You missed it." He says "You missed his... breakdown. Last year. It was bad. Downward spiral, PTSD -- he's bipolar. Extremis helped regulate his moods, it controlled it chemistry. But whatever Ty did broke it."

"Is he trying to fix it?"

"I hope so."

"How long d'you think it'll take?"

Steve shrugs. "Who knows."

"And now you're engaged."

"Yes?"

Bucky looks at him for awhile, eyes intent. "What." Steve snaps.

"And you're not just doing this because you think -- to make him feel better."

"No."

"How can you be sure."

"Because I've had that ring for months."

Bucky stares. And then he nods. "Fair enough." He says. "I wish you the best of luck, then."

"Thank you." Steve says softly.

"I always knew you like both."

"Bucky!"

"Can I ask a serious question?"

"No."

"Did you ever have it for me?"

Steve splutters. "No! No, never! Why would you even ask that! That's -- no!"

Bucky snorts. "I sense denial, but I won't push it."

"Bucky, let me assure you when I say that I have never, ever, wanted to place my dick anywhere near you, okay?"

"Not even a little bit?"

"Not even a little. In fact, I -- "

"Steve?" Tony mumbles "What are you talking about?"

Bucky clears his throat uncomfortable, retreating to his work. Steve looks up. "Nothing important." He says. "You hungry?"

Tony frowns, rubs the back of his hand over his head. "I think I just came down to make sure you were here. Uh." Tony looks around the kitchen. "I'm gonna go lie on the couch. I'll, I'll be there if you need me."

"Wait," Steve says "sit down."

"It's fine." Tony says quickly. "I don't want to..." his eyes drift to Bucky "interrupt."

He leaves, and Steve stares. "He's not jealous, is he?"

Bucky shakes his head. "Nah." He says. "He doesn't like me."

"That's a lie."

"I mean it. I don't he think he likes me at all. We were fine when, you know, didn't emote. But it's different now."

"I think you're too similar."

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "No." He says "I think, now that I'm not a shell, now that I don't look desperate, he doesn't have to be nice. He doesn't run the risk of pushing me over the edge. And, you know, I did kill his parents."

"You also saved his life. It's not you, Buck, trust me. It's him. He's just... he's not well, right now. Give him time."

"Was he like this in Hawaii?"

"Like what?"

"Mopey."

"It's not his fault."

"I'm not saying it's his fault. I'm just asking."

"Yeah he was mopey. Some days he wouldn't get out of bed at all."

"Nightmares?"

"Awful."

"Shit. I'm sorry."

Steve shrugs. "What can I do? He refused medication, at first. I don't think he thought he could ever crash this hard."

"It's bad timing?"

"Fuck yeah it's bad timing. He's got this school, he needs to do press on Resilient. Everyone saw as dancing at Rhodey's, Buck. Everyone's speculating, and we haven't commented."

"You could pass it off as a joke thing if it's really not ready."

"Too late. People have come forward saying they know Tony slept with guys in college."

"So? Say it was a thing. Doesn't make it serious."

"We want to tell the truth, Bucky. We don't want to hide it."

Bucky shrugs. "Well then I can't help."

Steve bites his thumb. "I worry about him."

"It's workable. He fixes Extremis and it'll be like nothing ever happened."

"I don't know if he can fix Extremis like this."

"Then give him time. He'll be on top eventually. He just needs time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit guys literally any comment you can give would be a blessing tonight you know how I use comments to get through awful social situations yeah well we have guests and they are just
> 
> it's really awful and we have to go to another friend's tonight and I think I'm going to throw up. I haven't been able to leave my room all day like I can't say too much here but it's really, really awful and uncomfortable and i've never felt so unsafe in my own home ever.


	140. Chapter 140

Tony can hear them, down the corridor. They're talking, laughing, that's okay. Steve deserves it. Bucky deserves it. They deserve time to spend together. Steve needs time to relax.

Because what Tony put Steve through on that vacation? That was the opposite of relaxing. He knows it. He knows that he put Steve through hell, what with the not taking his meds, with the crying, and the nightmares. Dog lumps himself onto his lap and Tony runs his hands over his fur, tries to focus. He's just taken two pills -- they're making him fuzzy.

"You okay over here?" Natasha asks quietly, standing somewhere behind him, which is, not good, not safe, not -- if Natasha can sneak up on him then anyone can, and then where would he be?

"Don't do that." Tony snaps. "You know I don't like that."

"I'm sorry." She says evenly, perching on the other side of the couch. "I didn't want to scare you."

"Your man's in the kitchen talking to Steve."

"I know." She says, smoothing out her lap. "I wanted to talk to you."

Tony grunts. That's not unusual. Natasha is good at this. Talking to Tony when he doesn't want to.

"Oh yeah?" He says. "What about."

"You're engaged."

Tony stares at the ring on his finger, mute. He twists it round a few times, curls tighter on the couch. "Yeah." He says softly.

"Are you happy?"

"To be engaged? Yes."

"And everything else?"

"I can't control that."

"I know." Natasha says, quietly. "I know."

Dog buts his head against her hand and she gives him an absent scratch. They fall into silence.

It's not so bad, having her there.

"Did you enjoy your holiday?" She asks.

"Something tells me you know I didn't."

"I'm sorry if -- "

"Why are you here."

Natasha looks at him. "I wanted to chat."

Tony closes his eyes, half in irritation, half in pure exhaustion. He feels wrung out. Usually, low swings make him angry. But now he's like a damp rag with no water left to give.

"Later." He mutters. 

He's aware that Natasha doesn't leave, although he hears Dog's feet padding away. Some half an hour goes by.

And then someone eases a blanket over his shoulders, gently lifts his head, places a pillow there. Caught somewhere between sleep and reality, he's not sure if he imagines Natasha's hand smoothing through his hair.

 

When he wakes up, it dark out. He's still on the couch, and Steve is crouching in front of him, gently shaking his shoulder.

"Hey," he whispers, voice low "Tony? Do you want to go to bed?"

Tony blinks blearily at him. "It's okay," he mumbles "I can sleep here."

"Did you have a nightmare, sweetie?"

It's strange; Tony hadn't dreamt of anything at all.

"Where did she go?" Tony says, trying to sit up. "There -- "

"Natasha? Bed, I think. Do you -- shall I get her?"

"No, no." Tony's just disorientated. No need to wake her up. He sits, swaying slightly, and Steve holds him firm with a hand on his shoulder.

"Can I talk to you about something?" Steve asks, quietly.

Tony smiles, or tries to. "Sure, sweetie." He says through tired lips. "Whatever you want."

"You -- the man at your window. That was Bucky, wasn't it?"

Tony feels his smile grow pained. "Steve, we've been through this."

"But it was, right?"

"Yeah, Steve, it was."

"And we know that Jarvis -- "

"I don't want to talk about that."

"Right." Steve says quickly. "But, uh, sweetie, don't you think it's something maybe we should talk about?"

No. He doesn't. He's tired and, and it's not important. Jarvis left. He left, and Tony doesn't -- he doesn't want to know why. Steve doesn't understand that, and Tony doesn't expect him to, but please, he needs to listen to what Tony is saying.

"Steve, please." Tony mumbles, trying to take his hands in his. "I don't want to talk about it, okay? And I -- " he frowns "I'm really tired."

"Did you take your meds?"

Tony nods, dazed.

"Well then that's why." Steve sighs, offering his arm. "C'mon. Let me help you up."

Tony's head hurts. He wants to stay on the couch.

"Are you sure?" Steve says. "I could -- "

"Stay with me?" Tony asks, plaintively. "Sorry. Just -- let's just sit, for awhile."

Steve stares down at him, and then relents. "Sure." He says, folding onto the couch, pulling Tony against him. "You sleep if you want to."

Tony smiles against Steve's stomach. "I love you." He says, wrapping his arms around his middle.

"I love you too." Steve says "And -- Tony. You know I would only ever do the best for you."

"Of course."

Steve presses a kiss to his head. "That's all I needed to hear."

 

So the next few weeks are a mix of brilliant and awful. Rhodey and Carol come home, and they've got photos of the baby's first scan, which take pride of place on the fridge on the main floor. Tony's plans for Stark house to be converted into a school are underway with construction due to start in the new year. It's the middle of August and New York is buzzing with heat, with life. Some days, the team will take their dinners in the heady heat of the evening on the balcony overlooking the city.

Resilient takes second stage, but that's okay, because he's currently just trying to find a suitable team. Tony won't be CEO and he won't be head of R&D, but he needs good people other than Pepper to take his place.

Tony can't quite get his head straight. He knows he needs to fix Extremis, and he wants to. He will. But it's so difficult to do anything right now. Once he gotten through his work for the day, he just climbs into bed and lays there until sleep takes him, ready to start another day.

And it's not fair for Steve. It's not fair that he still hasn't told the press about their engagement. It's not fair that he's destroying the relationship he tried to hard to build, just like everything else he touches.

They argue a lot, and it always ends with Steve telling him it's not his fault, and that he's sorry. It makes Tony feel awful because, well, yeah, that's true. It's not Tony's fault that's he constantly angry, that everything makes him irritable. He goes through his day on his best behaviour and then he takes it out on the people closest to him. It's awful.

Tony doesn't know why Steve sticks around.

It gets really bad one day when Tony starts to shout at Bucky. He's never done that before, because as a rule he only screams at people he's close to, but on this occasion he couldn't stop it. He blamed him for a lot; for his parents, for Jarvis, for HYDRA. He blamed him for everything, even though he'd done nothing wrong. For his part, Bucky hadn't reacted, which was a testament to his strength, because Tony has the easiest life in the world and he can't even keep it together for ten minutes while Barnes can just calmly wait it out and get someone else to deal with it.

Steve had been so, so angry, and that had made it worse. Tony had insisted that Steve had to choose between him and Bucky, as if that made any sense, as if it was in any way the same. And Steve had told him to leave and come back when he was thinking straight.

Yeah. That had been bad. His nightmares that night were so awful Jarvis called an ambulance because his vitals went crazy. Without Steve to wake him, or hold him, it was really, really bad. 

And then, slowly, it starts to get better. Not straight away. He takes his meds regularly. He gets work under control. Finally, he and Steve stand up in front of a crowd and admit that they're together, although leave out that they're getting married. Some of the public fallout is difficult, but Tony deals. He remembers why he loves Steve; he remembers why life is worth living.

With some motivation back, he gets to work on Extremis, and for the first time in months feels like he's being productive. He selects his new Resilient team. Life feels lighter. His team feels stronger. He stops screaming at night.

He and Steve go on a date, one night. Like, a real date. They've never done that before, not properly. It's amazing. Tony picks the restaurant and after they come home and he lets Steve fuck him until he's sore. 

And it's brilliant.

He remembers how to be happy.

And then one day, in late August, Steve tells Tony that they're going for a drive. Tony asks if it's a surprise and Steve says he doesn't know yet.

Tony had smiled, because Steve loved being cryptic, and he'd gotten in the car. Steve drove them to the old mansion, the Stark family mansion.

Tony asks if they're here for planning work before the renovators go in. Steve asks if he would like to see it one last time before it's ripped apart?

Tony frowns. Sure, he says. Steve takes Tony's hand. He says that he's sorry he went behind Tony's back for this. And if Tony doesn't want to go in, then he doesn't have to. But he knows that if Tony never does this, he'll regret it. If he wants to turn around and go home right now, Steve won't judge him, but he wants Tony to give it a chance.

Tony frowns. What?

"Jarvis." Steve says. "I called Jarvis. He's waiting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I SWEAR we're nearly done. I might not update until I have the whole thing finished and written up, idk yet.


	141. Chapter 141

Tony blinks. "What?"

"Jarvis is waiting. In there, in the house. And if you don't want to go, I understand, and so does he, and we can turn around and nothing will have changed. But I know you. And I know you'd never do this on your own. So I've brought him here, and he can explain, and maybe -- " Steve worries his lip. "I don't know. Maybe you can put this to rest."

"Put this -- " Tony stares "put this to -- " his head spins as he looks from the oak doors to Steve, and then back again. "You can't -- you can't be serious."

"He's there, Tony. All you have to do is walk in."

"You can't be -- " Tony stares at him, eyes wide, one hand braced on the door. "Fuck, Steve, you can't -- "

"Are you angry?"

"Angry? Am I -- " Tony swallows. "I'm," he draws his hand over his brow "I don't know what I am. I don't know what to think, I, I d-don't -- "

"I think, the first thing is that you need to relax."

"Relax?" Tony hisses. "I c-can't, oh my God, oh my -- what do I do, what do I -- "

"Your choice. It's all your choice. You can either open this door and see him or we can turn around and that's that. If you get in there and think this isn't working, then we leave. No problem."

Tony pauses, agitated. "What would you do?"

Steve stares at him, and exhales. "Tony, if I had the chance to see someone I loved from... before, I would take it."

"Even if they had left? Or, you thought they could be HYDRA?"

"Even if. I would always give them time to explain. And then make my decision."

"My decision."

"Yours."

Tony swallows. He plays with the string of his sweater, gnaws on it anxiously. He's debating, fuck he's debating. Because what if Jarvis doesn't, God, what if he tells him something he doesn't want to hear?

And then he swings open the door, slams it shut. Takes a step forward, and then hangs back. He puts his head in his hand, turns a little circle. Takes another step towards the front door and then pauses.

Steve sighs, climbing out of the car. "Even if it's just to say hi?" He says "Just a, a 'I miss you' or a 'I appreciate that you raised me' sort of thing?"

Tony tuns, slapping his hands against the top of the car. "This isn't fair." He spits, slamming his palms against the metal on every word. "You can't just, just spring this on me, that's not fair, that's not -- "

"If I didn't, would you ever have called?"

"No!"

"Why not?"

"Because what -- " Tony swallows "what if he doesn't want to? What if, I don't know." Tony turns away, slumps against the car, head in his hands. He groans. "God."

"What if what?" Steve says, moving round the car, gravel crunching under his feet. "Tony, he's here. I called him, and he said that he _wanted_ to see you, he said there was so much he wanted to explain, that he needed to tell you. It wasn't -- " Steve lowers his voice "if you think that he doesn't want you, or that he doesn't care, then you're wrong. And that's all I'm going to say. Do you trust my judgement?"

Tony pauses, hands sliding down his face. "Yes."

"Then you have nothing to fear. Go. Talk to him."

Tony stands, bracing one hand on the metal of the car. He exhales, sharp, bites his thumb. "You'll come with me?" He says quietly,looking somewhere in the distance.

"Yeah," Steve says "of course."

Steve's right, maybe. Tony never would have had the balls to call him on his own. And he wants to, God does he want to. It hits him, right then, that Jarvis is behind the door. He's right there. He's just, all those years, and now he's a few steps away, in the flesh, living and breathing, and he's, Tony can _talk_ to him, he can ask him why and how and maybe, finally, he'll be able to understand _something,_ put a perspective on _something,_ because Jarvis is just behind the door.

He breathes. Stands straight. "Right." He says. "Right. I mean. What could go wrong."

"Right." Steve agrees, his hand coming to rest on Tony's shoulder. "C'mon."

Tony manages to walk to the door, and then he gets cold feet. "I c-can't," he breathes "I can't, oh God. Just, you go. Tell him I can't d-do it, just tell him -- "

"Tony," Steve says softly "you made it this far."

Tony feels sick. Really, violently sick. He wishes they'd brought Fucknut. Just so he would have something to do, just so he'd have an excuse not to look Jarvis in the eye when, when he explains how he's a drug addict and an alcoholic and, and a failure, a fucking failure who turned out just like his father.

Tony hops from foot to foot, turns, and then back again. Fuck he doesn't know. He doesn't even know what he wants. He chews his thumb, looks at Steve, back at the door.

"I can't." He says simply, sucking in a breath. "I just -- I can't."

Steve looks sad, and he look sorry, but he nods. "Okay." He says, quietly. "C'mon. I'll start the car."

He makes to leave and Tony turns back to the sturdy oak doors. Brushes his hand over the wood.

Jarvis is right there. He's in there.

When Tony was a kid, or not a kid, but younger than he is now, he'd come home, and Jarvis had been gone. He'd stared at these oak doors and ifsomeone had given him the chance to get Jarvis back, he would've. He would have killed his own father if it meant taking Jarvis in his place. 

Quickly, he fumbles for his keys. Quickly, do it now. Do it before you can change your mind. Even if it's only a glimpse, even if you decide you can't go through with it, just do it, do it now.

He manages to open the door, quickly pushing it shut behind him. He shakes against it, squeezes his eyes tight. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

The lights are off. In the sun, dust floats.

Somewhere, floorboards creak.

Tony steps forward. Clears his throat. Don't stutter. Don't do that. Don't let the first thing he hears be you, stuttering, you're better than that.

"Hello?" He croaks, and it's not really a croak, it just feels like one. He clears his throat again. "I -- anyone here?"

There's a shuffling from the living-room to the left. Tony freezes, and then pushes off from the door. "Uh," he says, tentatively creeping closer "is anyone -- "

He pokes his head round the door, fingers gripping the oak frame. 

(Please don't be there. Please be there.)

"Jarvis?"

His voice is a whisper, barely. Jarvis. That's what he used to call him. Except he didn't, not really. He never really called him anything. He never had to. He always had his attention when they were together, he had never had to use his name, and Edwin sounds so... foreign.

"Jarvis?" He says again, and this time he swallows. He steps into the doorway, framed by the oaky light of the windows.

The man turns. "Oh," he says softly. "Oh. I didn't think -- " he breaks off. "I didn't know if you would come."

Tony scuffs his shoe on the floorboard, presses his hands into his pockets. He sniffs, looks up, around, anywhere but the man right in front of him. "Yeah, well." He mumbles. "I had. If. The number. I mean, Steve insisted. Steve -- " he swallows. "Yeah." He finishes.

Jarvis is still tall. He must be about seventy, now. Tony remembers he was three years younger than his mother. Older, definitely, but he's kept his hair. It was always so blonde, Tony remembers, it was practically white anyway. Now it's longer. His face more lined. He's wearing a pressed sweater, a collared shirt underneath. Tony is inexplicably drawn to his boots, strong and sturdy.

Tony clears his throat. "You look good." He says. "You look... healthy, I mean, for a man who died of aids in 1991."

"I was just admiring the portrait." Jarvis says, voice wistful. "I was just..."

Silence.

So Tony has a choice. He can turn around and leave and forget this ever happened. He's seen him. He has no reason to feel guilty.

Or he can stay. Simple as.

Tony steps forward, and Jarvis looks hopeful. Carefully, he edges his way across the room. He pauses in front of the fireplace, the great oil painting his father had commissioned back when he was a kid looming down at him.

His father looks so serious and his mother looks so beautiful. Tony is just there, dressed in his little suit, sitting between them. Jarvis should have been there, he thinks, Jarvis deserved to be in the painting. He should have it moved. It's the only thing he has resembling a family photo anyway.

Jarvis clears his throat and Tony turns. They're closer now. He can see the little polo emblem on his sweater. Clearly he hasn't been living in destitution for the past however many years. He could have gotten in contact. He could have done all these things, he didn't have to leave Tony to rot -- 

Jarvis' hand carefully clasps his arm. "Tony." He says quietly. "You are..." he shakes his head, at a loss of what to say. "Could I say anything to even begin to earn your forgiveness?"

Tony lets his eyes close. Yeah. That's, that's Jarvis' voice. 

"You wouldn't need to." He says quietly. He brings his hand to rest on Jarvis' shoulder. "You -- " Tony sighs, lets his head hang. He rubs his eyes. "Yeah." He says, looking up. "You wouldn't need to."

Jarvis makes a soft noise, a huff, an exhalation of air. And he draws Tony close, wraps him in his arms, still as strong as Tony remembers. He tightens his hands in his sweater.

"You forgive too easily." Jarvis says, and he's crying. Tony can feel his tears wetting the back of his neck. "Oh, my -- you forgive far too easily."

"No, I -- " Tony's voice breaks, fuck, don't cry, don't fucking cry "you, I never, I never got to thank you, and I never -- "

Tony doesn't want to see Jarvis cry. No one wants to see their parent cry. No matter how old you get, seeing your parents cry is one of the hardest things you'll ever have to see.

Jarvis sucks in a breath, pulls away. He wipes his eyes, smiles, hands resting on Tony's shoulders. "My God," he says "you look like your mother. Has anyone ever told you that? It's uncanny."

No one ever has. No one remembers Maria Stark.

"Yeah, I mean," Tony sniffs, quickly runs his sweater sleeve over his eye "it's not like, you know. It's not -- "

"Breathe."

Tony sucks in a breath, grins. "Breathing. Yeah, I'm, whew. Okay. God. This is weird, isn't it? Isn't this weird? I never thought -- "

"I always hoped." Jarvis said. "I hoped there would be a time when I would be able to -- when I'd be able to see you again. I worried. I thought my time was running out, and then..."

"You need to explain." Tony says in a rush. "Sit, let's -- you have time, right? If you don't, I -- I mean it's okay, I -- "

"I have nowhere else I need to be."

Tony feels giddy. "We can get dinner?"

"We can."

He tries to swallow his -- is it excitement? Happiness? Jubilation? -- and nods. "Yeah," he says "okay. Uh. Should I -- fuck, I left Steve in the car."

"Steve." Jarvis says slowly. "Yes. Your..."

"Fiance."

"I never knew."

"Knew?"

"That you were..."

"Oh." Tony's ears heat. "It's, I'm not. It's complicated, uh, and not important. But I can tell him to leave if -- "

"Is he good to you?"

Tony blinks. "Yeah," he says softly "of course."

Jarvis sighs, running his fingers along the dusty mantelpiece. "It's a very strange state of affairs. Captain America. I can't believe -- " Jarvis snorts "your father would shit himself with jealousy."

"Kinda not a great mental image?"

"Call him in." Jarvis says "He should hear this, too."

Tony swallows, because for a moment he forgot why they are here. He knocks on the window, gestures to Steve who's still outside in the car. He waits till he hears the keys in the lock before he sits down.

Jarvis takes an armchair, and Tony takes the couch. Steve offers his hand to Jarvis, not smiling, but not frosty. "It's good to meet you, Mr Jarvis."

_Mr Jarvis._ That just sounds weird. Apparently, both the other men think so too, because Steve's nose wrinkles and Jarvis says "Ed is fine."

"Tony's told me so much about you." Steve says politely, hand coming to cover Tony's. "I feel like I know you already."

Jarvis smiles, but Tony can tell it's bitter. "You... you must have a lot of questions." He says, addressing Tony.

"Yeah." Tony replies, feeling slightly breathless. "I do. I -- I really missed you, though. I should just say that. Before, uh. I missed you, and -- it really, really hurt for you to leave."

Jarvis hangs his head, runs a hand over his eyes. "God," he whispers "let me explain."

"All of it?"

"All of it." Jarvis says, lips locked in a grim line. "I'll start at the beginning."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me waaay too long to write. And I still don't like how it turned out. Ugh. But yeah, better than nothing. Next chapter will take awhile, because it's going to basically sum everything up and explain everything i can fit in and it's all going to be from Jarvis' perspective. Also I have exams to revise for. Ughhh. So.


	142. Interlude

Jarvis would not have come to America is he had not been such an idiot.

Looking back on it now, it was a disaster. He had been young. Had wanted adventure. Foolishly, having learnt nothing from the war that had ended a decade before, he decided he wanted to chase the American dream, never mind sticking to English common sense.

Not that he'd had a choice. He had about £10 to his name at the time. He lost his father in the war, his brother. His mother had retired to a small cottage in Devon and promptly killed herself. Disillusioned with loss and hoping for something better, he'd met a man at a bar who promised him a new identity. Passport, visa, you name it. He himself had been planning to take it but had gotten cold feet the night before. The next morning, Jarvis set out to the US of A with only a backpack and some pennies in his pocket.

(Coincidentally, he slept with that man later that night, but that's not important. He was down on his luck, he fancied one last blow out.)

His real name is not Edwin Jarvis, but it's been that for so long it does not matter. No one will ever be able to trace him back to the young boy who grew up in London. He no longer exists. He was about twenty, homeless, living in alleys and hostels in a city he did not know when they went to war with Vietnam. For lack of anything better to do, and something of a deathwish, he enlisted, one of the only stupid people to do so.

It was a bloodbath.

He still has nightmares.

Call it cowardice or call it brains, Jarvis balked. He saw people die. He shakes even now when he thinks about it. His only thought was that he needed to get out. He had nowhere to go, no home. He saw men infinitely greater than him die, and his only thought was to save himself.

By chance one night at camp he happened upon a commander who was inspecting the troops. He must have noticed Jarvis' reluctance, or maybe even his accent. He said he could get him discharged -- honourably -- if he completed a very special job.

He was HYDRA. Jarvis knows that now. He was definitely HYDRA. He gave Jarvis a new new identity. The 'honourable' discharge was death. He was given the name Jarvis, because the man thought it sounded British, and given his orders.

He had no qualms about spying on Howard Stark. He was a rich man, one of the elite, who built the weapons but never got their hands dirty. He almost relished it. At the time, he wasn't told he was working for HYDRA. He was told he was spying for Roxxon, a business rival. He was paid a large sum every month into an off-shore account. When it was over, and Howard was dead, he'd be able to retire, somewhere nice, peaceful, maybe Switzerland, and he could keep himself to himself. There weren't many other opportunities for uneducated gay men. It would be good.

After he 'rescued' Howard from a car crash of his own making he was offered a job on the spot. This was, of course, within the plan. Howard was known to be impulsive, with a twisted kindness. Jarvis accepted gladly. Within a a few years he'd be free.

But Howard's kindness was just that: twisted. Within a week, Jarvis saw he was not a war machine nor a monster. He was a broken, conflicted man.

It took him a little while longer to wane. He didn't fall in love; that would be ridiculous. But back then, Howard was still attractive. And they were both very, very damaged.

Jarvis doesn't know if Maria ever found out about the both of them. Of course, she had a little secret of her own. Howard was too old for her, even though she was roughly Jarvis' age. That was what eventually made him stop: he couldn't hurt Maria.

He knows that by this point there had already been a few failed pregnancies. A baby girl, because there was one room with pink walls and dolls that lies locked. Jarvis wonders if it's still there, or if Tony had stripped down. Hell, he wonders if Tony even knows it exists.

Maria was... she was a very clever woman. Very clever. Had she been born a man, she would have made it very far. But as it happened, she had not. She was born a woman into a family of men. She did the next best thing: she got married. She had once told Jarvis she had plans. She was going to revolutionise the world with her charity. She genuinely thought she was going to be the next mother Theresa. A white, middle class, American/Italian mother Theresa. She would throw off her old poverty and attend beautiful galas with her handsome husband and bouncing baby. She had it all planned out.

Clearly, it didn't end up that way. Life got to her first. Her husband was a drunk and she soon succumbed. She lost her baby daughter. She developed an irrational fear that her son was a monster. No, it definitely did not work out well for Maria Stark.

It was Tony's conception that made him give up the game. He couldn't live in this house with a mother and father and plot their downfall. He couldn't sleep with a man and sell him out. He couldn't let a man die knowing that his wife and baby would be left alone. He was not a bad man, and he stands by that. Cowardly, yes. But not cruel. 

So he told Howard the truth. "I've been spying on you." He says "For about a year. I can't do it anymore."

And damn Howard. He's too good to his friends. He's sneaky and underhand but he will never see wrong in you if he trusts you. And he took Jarvis' admission to be a sign of good faith. He asked him who he was working for and Jarvis said 'Roxxon'.

Because that's what he thought at the time. It was around that period that they started sending someone to the house to debrief him. Howard knew about this, too, and they agreed that they would use a room on the other wing of the house to meet. Howard would watch the meetings. 

The man, The Asset, Jarvis remembers he was called, never showed his face.

Howard would give him false information to feed back. Maria didn't know until some years later when she caught Jarvis in the act of transferring information. When she caught the Asset in Tony's bedroom. They assumed they were leading Roxxon up the garden path.

Things got complicated after Tony was born. Maria withdrew, Howard drank more. It fell on Jarvis' shoulders to raise the child simply because no one else would.

And he tried his best. He really did. He was a damaged, gay man and, quite honestly, still young himself. Howard was cracked at the edges. Some sort of personality disorder. An addictive streak that lead him relying on drink as they only way to get through the day. He was disillusioned, washed up. He always had an air of defeat around him, at least, when they were alone. Repressed desire for men he couldn't have, a life that could have been. He was subject to rapidly swinging moods. Some days, he'd bounce the baby on his lap until it was a ball of laughter. Others, he'd snap, leaving it to cry. On one awful occasion, he threw a book at the place where Tony was lying on the carpet. After that, Jarvis stopped leaving them alone.

(Although Tony never stopped longing for his father. Did it make him jealous? Yes, probably. To lavish Tony with all the attention he could afford and still have him ask for his father made him... bitter. Not just for himself; he was angry that Howard wouldn't pay more attention. How dare he. Tony was a perfect child, such a brilliant boy. Everything a kid should be. Howard didn't know how lucky he was.)

Maria was in no shape to be a mother. She'd been a heavy drinker before the birth -- now, it doubled. Birthing blues, post partum, whatever you want to call it. She got it bad. She was convinced Tony was an imposter's baby, and then that he was evil. Her life didn't turn out the way she wanted; she hated her husband and there was no way out. In all the years Jarvis worked at that house, he saw her pick Tony up only once or twice.

Jarvis really had no other choice. He did, briefly at the start, seriously consider reporting it to social services. If Howard had been poor the baby would have been taken from the straight away. Instead, he took over, filling the role of mother and father as best he could.

He was the one who suggested they send Tony away. At the time he thought it was the right thing. He knew things were getting rough at home. This was during the period where Hammer looked like he was getting ready to rip away the government contracts. Howard's slump had been so bad that, for the first time, the other company was poised to shoot ahead.

They had called in Obadiah Stane.

This is where it gets difficult.

Because until that point, Jarvis was working for 'Roxxon'. And once a week, he would meet the Asset in Tony's bedroom and feed him incorrect information about Stark Industries. That's as far as his knowledge of the whole situation stretched, he'll swear by it.

The first thing Stane suggested was that they lean off Roxxon support. That they enter a merger, that they create a more amenable working relationship. He and Howard had known, straight away, what that meant. And slowly, things started to come together.

Obadiah was HYDRA. They, funny enough, weren't the ones to figure it out. Maria did that. Something about old family connections, or an overheard conversation. Howard, Maria and Jarvis were sitting on information they didn't know how to deal with.

So they played it down. Jarvis has never been more furious with Howard in his life, never, because instead of taking it to SHIELD, who had just reached a significant spot within the government, he decided he was going to deal with it himself. "Lower risk," he says "I can handle it. Less people will get hurt."

So, to summarise, Stark industries was in trouble. Their helping hand was HYDRA. Hammer had it in for them and Howard didn't want to do anything about it.

And then, of course, Maria got pregnant with another man's baby.

Yes, at the time, it hadn't seemed like a very conducive environment for a little boy to be growing up in. Howard was stressed, Maria was stressed. They kept secrets from each other while at the same time sitting on the biggest on of all. It could have been resolved, maybe, or at least set on the path to solution if Howard had been able to swallow his pride and stop being so damn stubborn. If -- 

Fine. Maybe if Maria hadn't chosen Nicholas Fury of all men to sleep with, maybe Howard would have gone to him for help. He and Nick were friends, once. Increasingly paranoid, he was someone Howard could have trusted.

But he was bitter. Despite the fact he and Maria had long ago agreed that their match was nothing other than financial, the thought of her publicly going behind his back was irritating for him. At least he kept his affairs low-key. His once amiable relationship -- no, amiable makes it sound like they were acquaintances, they were far greater friends than that -- with Fury was dissolved. For lack of anyone else to trust, he turned inwards. Drunk more. Maria miscarried the first Christmas after Tony was sent away. Howard didn't seem too torn up about it.

His paranoia kept growing. He knew Obie was a snake but there was nothing he could do. If Roxxon was HYDRA, how did he know SHIELD was in the clear? Jarvis remembers they used to have agents round for dinner, Alexander Pierce, for example, all the while knowing that half of them were probably bugging the house and picturing twenty different ways to kill him with his fork.

They reached a stalemate: neither side could do anything. Roxxon assumed Jarvis was still working for them, but they stopped sending The Asset. Instead, Jarvis would report back information Howard had concocted once every few months. It was strenuous. Jarvis knew there was danger.

Tony was safe at his school but it didn't stop Howard worrying. It would be so easy, he thought, for someone to just snatch him in the night. Jarvis assured him that that was not the case. Maria didn't seem to care either way. As it was, Howard was prone to fits of anxiety. He soon forgot that he was worried about his son.

It was around this time that Maria's depression hit a standstill: she stopped leaving bed. She stopped attending galas. Most markedly, she wouldn't go to church. Once a strong, proud woman, she was stripped of all energy, all life. The pressure of living in a house with Howard, with a virtual death sentence hanging over her head because of the man she was married to, took it's toll. She hadn't made the change she had dreamed of. Howard continued to make weapons that killed people. She felt that both of them were living on borrowed time.

She wasn't wrong, necessarily.

Jarvis split his time between worrying about her, to worrying about Howard, to worrying about Tony. Tony, who at eight years old still couldn't speak without stuttering but who, one year later, he would find sampling some of his father's alcohol before he even knew what it was. 

Yeah, he worried about Tony the most. Because Howard and Maria were already gone. He was already gone. He still has nightmares about men screaming on earthy ground, the heat driving him insane. Tony still had a chance. If Jarvis could keep him safe, could keep him away -- 

Years go by like this. Howard and Maria fight. Maria swings round and round, a predictable cycle as her mood builds and the slumps. Jarvis often wondered if she would have been happier leaving Howard when she had the chance. If she and Nick Fury really could have ever had had a relationship. Nick was so young, too. Of course, he's dead now.

Where was he? Years go by. Ups and downs. Howard grows more paranoid. His body starts to give up on him. Tony comes home for a break and -- yes, it's coming back to him now -- this was the great business/engineering debacle. Howard wanted Tony to do business, Tony wanted to do engineering. Obadiah, obviously, backed up Tony. He did so like driving a wedge between the two of them. Howard probably could have articulated his feelings a little better. Instead, he stopped contacting his son. How long was it before they talked again? Two years?

And then the pressure starts rising. Obadiah is closing in. He finds out that Jarvis is actually working for Howard. It becomes clear that Jarvis is next on their hit list.

And overnight, he, Maria, Howard -- they just slot back into the rolls they once played. Howard contacts some old friends, sees if he can get Jarvis smuggled out the country before Howard himself is taken down. He knows he's going to die, soon -- not just from assassination, but his own body. It's giving up. They leak subtly that Jarvis has HIV -- and that it's reaching the end point. It's never a big deal, just enough that people will mutter it at parties, that word will travel. Did you hear about the Stark's butler?! Imagine, all those years. He looked after the son, you know. Shocking.

Jarvis knows the end is in sight. He had known. Howard had told him to have a bag packed, ready to run at anytime. Tony had been at school. College. Jarvis remembers wondering that, if he was gone, who was going to remember to pay the bills? Would Howard be able to get the checks out on time? His memory was failing him. Maria wouldn't want to. Would they look after him? He was still so young. He was making so many bad decisions. Jarvis needed to be there to put him on the right path.

In the end, the last time he sees Tony is a bright, sunny day in summer. He's hiding fake blood in a handkerchief in the hopes of raising Tony's suspicions. He remembers, they'd had it all planned: he'd have to look ill, or Tony would never buy it. He remembers that, at the time, it hadn't been difficult. Stress makes you lose weight. 

He wasn't sure if it was truly the last time he'd ever see Tony but he knew that it would be cutting it fine to think he would have another chance to say goodbye. What hurt the most was that he couldn't truly show him how he felt. He'd had to hug him, and say bye, like nothing was wrong at all.

He talks to Tony one last time about a week later. He tells him about his old friends, Whitney and Tiberius, and that they want him to go LA for vacation. He says that he doesn't know. He says that it's getting hard to wake up in the mornings. He doesn't want to leave his apartment."

Jarvis had sworn that the next time they meet, they'll talk it over properly. Tony had sighed. "I'm just tired of being tired." He'd said, and Jarvis had cried silently over the phone, because he never wanted Tony to have to sound like that, and now he's leaving, and it doesn't matter anyway.

Two weeks later, he flees in the dead of night. Howard and Maria drive him to the docks where the boat is waiting to take him down to the next meeting spot. So archaic HYDRA will never know. Who even tracks boats nowadays anyway?

It's cold for an early Autumn night. Maria hugs him, kisses each cheek, thanks him so much. Howard shakes his hand, and then pulls him close, and it's hard, too hard to leave the man who's been his best friend -- among other things -- for the past twenty years.

He watches their figures when the boat takes off. They both stand there, small shadows framed by bright patches of light.

 

Jarvis had been safe in Cornwall on the tip of England when the news comes through that Howard and Maria are dead.

His letter to Tony -- the closest thing he'll get to a real goodbye -- had already been sent, and is in the hands of Obadiah Stane. He's got millions of pounds worth of Roxxon and Howard pay in an offshore bank account. He's set.

Except he can't show his face. Because now that Howard and Maria are dead, HYDRA are everywhere. He changes his name yet again to Ronald Cameron and seldom leaves his village. He's earned a quiet retirement, maybe.

He sees things on the news. Tony Stark Takes Stark Industries: Too Much Too Young? Other things, too. Awards, inventions, notable references. He carefully snips them out and sticks them down, piled next to his collection of Tony's old report cards (each one full of straight A's -- his boy was really just that clever) carefully tended since he was a boy. Except that one time he got a D in English -- but they don't talk about that.

Jarvis has so few real photos of him and Tony. He wonders why. He can't remember the occasion ever calling for it. They never even went on vacation together. Of course, there was that time at the aquarium. God, is it sad that's one of Jarvis' favourite memories? A time where it felt like Tony's childlike innocence would be forever. Jarvis may have hated what he'd become, but Tony certainly hadn't. Tony had loved him all the same.

When he saw that Tony had been kidnapped it was like a punch to the gut. His boy, kidnapped, probably dead or worse. Would they torture him? That's not fair. It's not fair. He's so young, he's so --

That was when Jarvis had realised that Tony was no longer young. And neither was he. He had agonised, powerless, and imagined what fate he might reach. Would Tony see things that Jarvis had seen? Would they haunt him?

He had no magical illusions of Tony coming back safe and sound. Back then, it just wasn't an option. He remembers that being the popular consensus at the time. Oh, God, when he was found -- everyone was shocked. Even more so when they found out he did it himself. And then, when he halted missile production? Well.

He stood there and said that he never got to say goodbye to his father. He stood on that podium, and said those words. Jarvis wonders how that final meeting would have gone. Howard knew his time was running out. Did he make the most of it? Did he try to form some sort of relationship with his son? Or did he spare them both the pain? Watch from afar, cautious but cruel, like he had for so many years.

Jarvis was so proud. Tony did the thing Howard always wanted to do but never had the balls to. And he knew, straight away, that Tony had seen something that had changed his perspective for him. Maybe if Jarvis could have grown with him he would have been able to help him avoid the mistakes he made, the partying and the drinking -- God, those sex tapes -- but this, maybe, made up for it. Tony was taking the greatest step he could take. He was a humanitarian now. He really was going to change the world.

Jarvis was wary of Obadiah. He knew he must've been poisoning his mind for years by this point, but he has nothing to stand on. It doesn't surprise him when he dies in a 'plane accident.'

Iron Man. It was nothing that Jarvis could comprehend. The, the flying between countries, SHIELD, all of it. On one hand, obviously, Jarvis is both proud and incredibly concerned that one day Tony won't fly home. On the other, he thinks about everything Howard did to make sure Tony never saw that side of the world. The lengths he went to to make sure Tony never became part of the same insidious, covet system that ended up betraying him.

Even to the extent that he wanted Tony to take business, because businessmen, sure, they're great in the board room but they're mostly useless to organisations like SHIELD. He just went about it the wrong way. Howard was damaged, his social skills inept; he was angry at his son for not listening to him. He knew that business was the best way forward for Tony, but he couldn't show it, couldn't explain why. Obviously, Tony refused. He was fifteen. Howard's response was to sulk for a few years.

(There had been a piece in the New York Times about Tony's graduation -- Jarvis would get it sent to his house. He'd cut it out and stuck it in the scrapbook, given it a whole page of it's own. He knows no one was there to see him cross the stage.)

He sees that Tony's found a girl, too, and she looks responsible. The kind of girl Jarvis would choose, if he wasn't thirty years older and gay. And on the run from a genocidal terroristic group. Tony has a girl, and he's saving the world, and it's like a literal breath of fresh air.

And then the unthinkable happens: aliens, in New York. He and Howard used to talk about this over their drinks, the things Howard knew. Honestly? Still didn't see it coming. And then Tony had carried a nuclear missile into outer space.

He always had wanted to be an astronaut.

Jarvis sees things shifting, after that. He's Tony's home blown apart. He sees a norse God in Greenwich. HYDRA is unmasked.

HYDRA is unmasked. Thousands of documents leak. Jarvis had put together what he could, tried to get a whole picture. He sees the press conference where Tony and his team announce an initiative to take HYDRA down, once and for all. He sees him answer questions about his father's dealings with Roxxon. He sees him get shot in the neck.

He sees his relationship break down. He sees him shout at reporters. He sees him heartbreakingly stutter on stage. The grainy footage of him dressed in a sweat suit and screaming at the board of directors. He sees him drink. He sees the stress get to Tony the same way it got to Howard. He sees it crack him open like it cracked open his father. He sees him disappear for weeks, the same way his mother would. He sees him in throes of a meltdown, the same way Jarvis suffered after he came back from Vietnam.

Strangely, though, he also sees him recover. And that, in itself, is a miracle. For the first time he considers that, if HYDRA really is taken down, he might be able to see Tony again. That one day, they may be able to sit in the shade of Maria's trees the way they used to.

He doesn't know how Whitney Frost catches him out. Maybe she was cleverer than he gave her credit for. He remembers her vaguely from Tony's descriptions, from the few times she visited the mansion. Her father used to be close to Howard -- that is, her step-father. Her real father, as he was reminded multiple times, was responsible for the death of Maria's brother, along with hundreds of others.

It's a small world.

He later realises that his identity was released with the rest of the SHIELD files in the exodus. It was just buried, among heaps and heaps of date, almost impossible to find if you don't know what you're looking for. HYDRA haven't actively searched for him in a long, long time. Still, he wonders how it got there. Did Howard tell Nick Fury, who saved it on a personal computer for future reference? It doesn't matter, anymore.

He watches the crowd grow restless. It doesn't quite reach the same peak in England -- no tries to blow up Parliament. But there are protests, large ones. He, like the rest of the world, watch Captain American storm the White House Gates with the people he's supposed to be policing. He watches President Ellis shake and resign, Roxxon crumble. It's satisfying. It's fifty years in the making. And it's fitting that the son of Howard Stark and Captain America do it together.

He hears from Steve what happened to Tony. He hears about how he was trapped inside his head. And the Captain, he talks about how having seen what he saw, he knows Tony will regret not making contact. And that the reason he's not is that he's scared. He's scared Jarvis left and that he doesn't want him back. That Jarvis just never felt the same way. That it was just Tony, young and helpless, who thought too much of Jarvis, read too much into their relationship.

As if Jarvis doesn't still have Tony report cards bundled up in his safe. As if he doesn't have newspaper clippings from every major milestone in his scrapbook. As if he hasn't counted down the days and waited until he gets to see him again.

He's already missed so much. He saw Tony turn into a man through the glare of a television screen. He's still healthy, he's still fit. If Tony will have him back... there's a still a chance.

There's so much he would have done differently. He would never have sent Tony away, ever. Never would have left him to stutter and stumble through his early years in a cold, unloving building so far from home. He would have figured out a way to move he and Tony somewhere else. An apartment. Howard and Maria would have agreed, maybe. It was just the logistics of carrying out his Roxxon cover. It doesn't matter; he should have kept Tony at home. Sending a child away that young is abhorrent. He wonders if the damage ever really faded.

And he'd make sure Tony didn't skip any grades. Keep him with people his own age, there's no rush. Let him enjoy himself. He used to worry so much! There was no need for it. Let him make real friends, learn how to meet people properly. And then college when he's ready. God, he could have even taken a year off. He could have gone travelling. Jarvis could have made that happen. Tony could have had a really, really good life.

Of course, what's done is done and he can't change it. He would, if he could.

But now he's facing Tony, who's wearing a sweater and shorts. His face is lined and there's the beginnings of grey in his hair. When did that happen? Why did he have to miss it?

Put it down to bad luck or just the way his life turned out; it doesn't matter. If Jarvis hadn't gone to America he would not have gone to Vietnam. He never would have felt a calling to cleanse the world of capitalist war mongers. He never would have met Howard Stark; he never would have cared for his child.

He sips his coffee, and now it's cool. Inside his jacket is a stack of report cards and ticket stub from an aquarium dated 1974.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you mean it's unreasonable that Jarvis kept a shitty ticket stub for forty years pfft *sweats nervously*
> 
> Also this chapter is exactly 5,000 words!! It was 4,999 but then I changed a 'couldn't' into a 'could not' so yay for anal behaviour. 
> 
> Not really sure how this chapter turned out, mainly because I wanted to get it out the way?? More questions to be answered in the next one!! Although, uh, I tend to lose track, so if there's something I've missed that's still burning, drop it in the comments so I can work it in and try to have something resembling continuity.


	143. Chapter 143

Tony quiet for awhile. He picks at his noodles, sniffs. Jarvis watches him, pretending to be focused on his coffee. Steve tries to make himself small.

"So," Tony clears his throat "you know. Did Nick Fury really bang my mom, because I kinda hoped that was a joke."

Jarvis twitches with relief. "I think we all did, Tony."

Tony sighs, puts down his carton. Leans forward, bracing his chin on his hand. "That's fascinating," he says "all of it, I mean. It's -- that's the abridged version, right?"

Jarvis exhales. "There's a lot I've left out. For example, I didn't mention the time Peggy Carter punched your father in the face."

Steve snorts. "Would have paid to see that." He says, scraping his chopstick and gathering noodles.

Tony raises an eyebrow at him. "Oh yeah? What was that about?"

Jarvis pinches his nose. "Honestly? I think it's just how they said hello. There was big argument, but that was before my time. It was your christening, actually. God, that whole day was a nightmare." Jarvis shakes his head. "You threw up down Howard's back, though. That was interesting."

Tony chuckles. "Yeah well he probably deserved it."

Jarvis pauses for a moment, and then looks up. "Tony," he says, carefully "Obadiah. You never knew -- you never suspected -- "

"No."

"Was he that good an actor?"

Tony drags his hand over his mouth, shrugs. "I guess I believed what I wanted to believe."

"Which was?"

"You know, he was, he was good to me, kinda. Uh," Tony waves a hand "I was young. I didn't -- "

"I shouldn't have left you with him." Jarvis mutters. "I could have come back."

"Yeah well, what's done is done, right? So, so no point thinking about it."

"Don't excuse it."

Tony sighs. "I'm not excusing anything. As it happens, he wasn't -- I mean, obviously he was a psychopath, but he never -- he wasn't that bad."

"Did you kill him?"

"God," Tony exhales, leaning back "sort of. Did you ever see the facility down in California? It was powered by an arc reactor. There's no way I would have won if -- I mean, we were both screwed, and neither was gonna let the other walk. So Pepper overrode the reactor. Incinerated him."

"Lovely." Jarvis says mildly. 

"Did he -- " Tony bites his lip "did my dad ever -- why didn't he tell me?"

"It was risky."

"Yeah, but -- you know I was twenty-one, right? Like, I wasn't stupid. I told him things. A lot of things."

"I'm not saying it was well thought out. Tony, I can't even begin to describe how stubborn your father was. It was a great failing of his. And once he got an idea in his head -- "

"Yeah, but he left me with Obadiah."

"You weren't supposed to grow close."

"Who else did I have?"

The silence is ringing. 

"I know," Jarvis says softly "Tony, I know."

"I'm not angry with you," Tony blurts "it's not you. I just don't understand why one of you -- any of you, couldn't have told me -- I lived in his house, Jarvis. His house."

"Why?" Jarvis says sharply. "Why would that have been necessary? You had money, didn't you? God, Howard didn't cut you off, did he?" 

Tony pauses. He looks at Steve, as if he's supposed to know what to say next.

"No," Tony says carefully "he didn't. We weren't... on speaking terms, before he died."

"Why not?"

Tony worries his lip. "I don't know. I can't even remember. A lot of things, I guess. I just -- I didn't want anything to do with him." Tony pauses. "And he didn't tell me where you'd gone. That, that was a pretty big part of it. No one bothered to explain anything. If they had said -- if someone had just said, I could have avoided Obie for the rest of my life. HYDRA could have been taken down decades ago. But no one did."

"Jesus," Jarvis mutters "it's not -- I know, I know. I know, and I can't apologise enough. I don't know what we were thinking. Tony, we just wanted to keep you safe. You were so young! Howard never wanted you -- he never wanted you to see SHIELD. For it to be something you took part in. And he tried his best -- his misguided, wrong, best."

"Jarvis," Tony sighs "Jarv, I -- he didn't. He really didn't. He didn't care enough. And I've made peace with that, it doesn't bother me. What bothers me is that he would allow any of it to happen. That he would -- my parents were still alive when I went to live with Obie. They knew. I -- " Tony swallows "Obie paid for my rehab, J. My dad didn't. Didn't even visit me once."

Jarvis is quiet for a long time. He smoothes his hands over his knees.

"I didn't know." He says eventually. "I didn't know that happened to you."

"It's not a big deal."

"Isn't it?" Jarvis says mildly, not meeting Tony's eye. "I'm sorry. This -- it was a mistake, wasn't it?"

Tony stares. "What?"

"Us, this. It was a mistake. I have been -- I've been negligent. I can't -- I never knew." He says simply "I don't know why your father didn't visit, but he never mentioned it in his letters."

"He wrote?" Tony says, trying to steer the conversation away. "You were still talking? Even after you left?"

"Often, yes. No phone calls, because he was afraid they were tapped."

"He was paranoid."

"He had good cause to be."

"And -- " Tony pauses "and he never mentioned me. I mean, what had happened."

"He said once," Jarvis says carefully "that he was worried. And that he and your mother had tried -- "

"That was a farce."

"He mentioned that, too. Said they couldn't get you to stay. Tony, your father assumed he would have more time. He just did. He always assumed that one day you would be a man and he'd be able to explain things. You were generations apart. What happened was unavoidable."

Tony's brow screws, because that's not the point. He's made his peace, he doesn't care. His father was a damaged man, a crooked, broken shell, and maybe he had cared, once upon a time, but Tony doesn't owe anything to him. Not his time or his pain or his memory. His father will be remembered for the good things he did; that, Tony can ensure. He's done his part for the Stark family legacy.

But his mother.

"You never read the letter." Jarvis states. "In the will, the one she left you."

"No."

"Will you?"

Tony thinks. "I don't -- " he looks at Steve, who smiles encouragingly. "I don't think I want to."

"Not even to give her voice?" Jarvis asks, softly. "You only have one mother."

"Jarvis," Tony begins tiredly, because he doesn't know how to say that his mother didn't care. He thinks Jarvis knows that. He doesn't know what he has to explain it again. "Jarv, you knew... she didn't. You know. Wasn't. I don't want to read that letter."

Jarvis looks sad. "There's still a lot you don't know."

"Then tell me." Tony says sharply. He regrets it. "Sorry," he says, after a moment's pause. "Sorry. I'm tense. I'm just -- tense." 

Jarvis chuckles, slightly. "You're asking for an impossible task, Tony. I couldn't begin to explain everything."

"You can try." Steve offers, butting in for the first time. "Try and put it into words. Start at the beginning."

Jarvis exhales in a heavy sigh. "It's not quite that simple. The beginning, I wasn't there for."

"Beginning?" Tony says "What beginning? We are still talking about my mother, right?"

"Partly." Jarvis says. "Mostly -- it's strange how much the younger generation carried on."

"The younger -- " Tony starts, indignant.

"I don't think anyone's ever thought of me as the younger generation." Steve says, hand covering Tony's. "I'm not quite sure what you mean."

"You, Tony. Your team. Once upon a time there was Howard, and Peggy, Maria and Fury. Me. History has a habit of repeating itself."

Tony can't think of anything to reply to that.

He thinks Jarvis is probably right.

"I pity her." Tony says eventually. "Mom. I really -- " his hand tightens around Steve, the rings on their fingers catching where their fingers curl "I just pity her. More than anything. More than -- everything that came out of this. I've seen so many things. I can't -- I just -- " Tony turns to stare at Steve, shakes his head. "More than anything, I wish I could have seen her okay." He says plaintively.

"Tony." Steve says, voice thick in his throat. "There's nothing -- it's not your fault."

"I know." Tony says simply, running his fingers over the seam of a pillow. "It's just a shame, I'm allowed to be nostalgic. I wish I could have known her better. That's all. I can't, though. So let's move on."

"She would have been proud." Jarvis says. "Even if she didn't love you, she would be proud of the man you've become. Of everything you've done."

Tony smile is small. "Yeah," he says softly "maybe."

"Your father, too."

"Let's not push it, yeah?"

Jarvis laughs. "You have a sense of humour, Tony, you see? You carried that with you."

"Christ, J, with my life the only thing you can do is grin and bear it."

"That bad?"

Tony exhales loudly, pushes his hair back on his head. "A lot's happened. I can't -- does it make any sense to you? How everything turned out? I can't make sense of it. How did I get here? Seriously, what the fuck? How did my life reach this point? I was supposed to be a CEO and retire at 50, that was the plan. You remember that plan, right?"

"It was a good plan." Jarvis agrees. "It was also the easy one."

"Right. And I've never been one to actually make life easy for myself, no, god forbid."

"But you're happy." Jarvis says, half question, half statement. "You're -- you're happy, now. With him," he nods at Steve "with what you're doing. You're not -- " Jarvis' face grows pained. "You're okay." He finishes, lamely.

Tony watches how Jarvis folds the paper towel in his hands over his fingers into a little square and then opens it up, starts again. It hurts, almost. Tony never noticed things like that when he was younger. Never noticed how vulnerable Jarvis could be.

He looks at Steve. Squeezes his hand. "I'm happy." He says, smiling gently. "Of course I'm happy."

Jarvis' face is one of relief. "I never would have lef -- "

"Left, I know." Tony finishes. "You had your reasons. It's -- alls well that ends well."

"Nothing was well to begin with, Tony."

"I think we've turned out okay." Steve interjects. "I think we -- what? Why are you laughing?"

Tony yawns slightly, kicks his feet up onto the table. He picks up a carton, scrapes the bottom with his chopsticks. "Whatever you say, Steve-o." he sighs, peering into the box. 

"Clearly Tony doesn't agree." Steve says, nodding pointedly at Jarvis.

"Get your feet off the table." Jarvis snaps, kicking them down with a light shove. "Do you know how expensive that wood is? That table's older than you."

Tony resists the urge to roll his eyes. "God, I've changed my mind. When can you leave?"

"If you don't want me around then clearly I'm doing something right. Were you raised by wolves? Who puts their feet on the same table they eat from?"

"You're digging yourself a hole to fall into, old man." Tony grumbles.

"You didn't talk back as much when you were older."

"Didn't really talk at all, to be honest."

Jarvis makes a soft, pitying noise. "Tony." He says softly.

Tony snorts. "Sorry," he says "okay. I'll stop the trip down memory lane, it's making me claustrophobic."

"You having this place ripped apart, aren't you? For that school."

"Yes."

"You wouldn't -- " Jarvis pauses "it's your home?"

"No."

Jarvis nods. "Fair enough."

"I mean," Tony sighs "it's not, obviously -- I'm not ripping it apart. I'm not actually allowed, the building's listed. I'm just auctioning off a lot of stuff, you know, art and whatever. A surprising number of people want to have the bed Tony Stark slept in when he was six which is, you know, weird." Tony frowns. "Actually a little creepy. But the money goes to the scholarships, so."

"I... I respect your decision."

"I think you're a little crabby, actually."

Jarvis exhales. "Oh, Tony. This house was my life for a long time."

"Right. And you'd rather see it sit here till, what, I put it on the market? Or I die and it gets forgotten? A school, Jarvis, a school. C'mon. You can't actually think that leaving it will ever be better than that."

"I think, seeing you, seeing this. Everything. It's made me nostalgic."

"For what?" Tony asks "The good old days?"

Jarvis pauses. "Not quite," he says "no. But Tony, before you were born, and I know you can't understand this, your father was a good man. And your mother was -- she had life. They were good people. I loved them. I loved -- " Jarvis sharply sucks in a breath "there were good memories here once. And I know it must, God, you must be tired of me talking about it, Tony, but I swear, once, your parents were good people."

Tony rubs a hand over his face. He knows. He doesn't doubt it. He appreciates what Jarvis is trying to do. He appreciates Jarvis being here at all.

"Jarvis," he says quietly "I don't -- I'm not angry, at my parents. At what happened. Not any more. No don't look at me like that, I'm not lying. When you've seen what I've seen, when you've -- I understand. I understand, now. They weren't fit to be parents anymore than I am. They were ill, they were -- the lifestyle was wrong. I -- " Tony looks up, look Jarvis straight in the eye "you know Pepper, we were engaged. She was pregnant. Never told me. And honestly... I don't know. At the time, I was convinced that it was what I wanted. But maybe that's just because I wanted her. I don't doubt my father, I don't know, that he loved me in some way. Not a normal, healthy way, but he felt something. I just think he wasn't ready. He was never meant to be a parent. And my mother..." Tony feels his throat grow thick "well, it wasn't her fault."

"I'm sorry," Jarvis says again "Tony, I'm so sorry I left. You don't understand, what you tell me now, if, if I'd had any idea -- "

"But you didn't." Tony says quickly. "You didn't, and that's okay. You're here, now," and Tony can feel his lips forcing a smile "you're here. And I'm, I'm okay. I have Steve, I have -- " he looks at him, looks at Steve and squeezes his hand "we have friends. A -- God, could you even call it a family? I'm not lonely any more. I'm not -- "

He takes a deep breath, tries to stop himself from doubling over, hiding his face. He has it good, now, he has it so good. He has Jarvis and Steve and so much to look forward to, a whole future, he just, he can't --

"I'm not sad," he manages "does that sound pathetic? I'm not, for so long I've felt sad. Just sad, all the time. And there was this period -- after you left -- where first I was addicted and then my parents died, and then I had this whole company to look after. Fuck, then there were years of just, just," Tony makes a frustrated noise "of nothing, years of nothing where I partied and drank and pretended and I did that because, honestly, I didn't want the stress, you know? I hated the stress, didn't want to think about what I was doing. God, oh fucking hell, then there was the cave," Tony covers his face with his hands and Steve's arm comes to wrap around his shoulders "and it was -- I still can't -- I'll never -- and after I couldn't keep doing what I was doing. But then, oh my God, the pressure." 

Tony sits up, abruptly. Takes a deep breath. "Of course," he says mildly "then I had a nervous breakdown. That was, that was less than ideal. Took me a year to really recover. I had Extremis. Then HYDRA, they, they really fucked everything up. That stupid fucking Dubai tower. Ty. He -- I didn't mention this, did I? Well I'll get onto it. After what he did, I didn't have Extremis regulating my moods. Steve, I'm so sorry for that."

"Stop apologising." Steve snaps. "We've been through this."

"Did he tell you?" Tony asks, addressing Jarvis. "He booked a holiday. We went to Hawaii. It was amazing, right? How fucking romantic. But I couldn't -- I fucking ruined it, that's what I did. Couldn't even keep it together for a second. Ran off and slept on the beach that like a lunat -- Steve, don't do that honey, I'm sorry."

"He's over-exaggerating." Steve says "He wasn't crazy. It was a stressful time, I should have seen that before I, you know."

Jarvis is shaking his head. "Stop," he says "wait, start at the beginning. Ty? Christ, Tony, you don't mean Stone, do you?"

"I said it was a disaster."

"He was -- "

"HYDRA."

"Oh, my God."

"He had this, uh," Tony waves a hand "DreamVision. Virtual reality. He thought he was going to use it to control mankind. He -- honestly, he had some serious issues. Completely sociopath, narcissist, you name it, he had it. Uh. He was also a little obsessed, with me. Tried to -- he locked me inside? It's a long story. It messed me up. But I'm fine, now."

"And your," Jarvis lowers his voice, moves closer "when you say, I mean, what exactly are you referring to when you say that, that your moods..."

"I was diagnosed with something." Tony says elusively, which is shitty, but that's all he's letting on. "It's, it's okay. I'm going to fix it. Right now I'm good. I need to tweak the Extremis code, but it means shutting down for a few days, medically induced coma. Which sounds scary! But it's not," Tony says quickly "it's not. Routine, even."

"You know your father had -- "

"My father had a lot." Tony says uneasily. "So did mom. I try not to think about it, honestly. Where, where it came from."

"It was the drink." Jarvis says, pulling himself up to sit straight. "That's where it came from, Tony, the drink. Your mother too. And then," Jarvis actually has to look away "and then you, too."

"Tony doesn't." Steve blurts. "He doesn't drink. He stopped that. Hasn't drunk in -- how long's it been, now?"

Tony swallows and tries to force himself casual "I don't know," he says "maybe a year? It's hard to keep track."

Jarvis stares. "But the bottles -- "

"In the study? I don't touch them. Think of it as a reminder, you know? Temptations there but as long I don't drink, I know I'm still good to go."

"Howard could never do it." Jarvis says. "He never could have done what you did. He never managed to stop. He let it destroy him, Tony, he let it -- "

"Howard never had Steve." Tony says quietly. "Not the same way I do."

Steve's hand is heavy on his knee. Tony's thumb skims the gold band.

"And," he says, looking up. "And we're going to get married." Tony exhales, grinning. "That's, yeah. Wow, right? Turns out I was looking in the wrong direction for a long time."

"I never knew." Jarvis says, wry smile on his lips. "I never even suspected."

"I think it took a few people by surprise," Steve says dryly "have you seen the message boards?"

"Steve won't let me read them." Tony says, matter-of-factly. "But what you gonna do? That's life. That's -- " his phone vibrates in his pocket, and he sighs. "Hold on a second."

It's a text. 'You coming home t/n?' Natasha asks. Tony frowns at the time. Is it really nearly twelve? How did that happen? He doesn't remember the time passing at all.

"It's Nat." Tony says, and for some reason he has to swallow. "She asks if we're coming home."

Steve looks at Tony, and then at Jarvis. "I think that depends on what you want to do." He says, nodding. "Are you staying in town?"

"Hotel. Nothing fancy. I -- I should get back." Jarvis says with finality. "It's late."

"Right." Tony says dully, clearing his throat. "Right."

There's a pause, and Tony sees Steve smoothing his jeans for something to do. The light atmosphere has disappeared. Tony feels a block in his throat. All he needs to do is ask. Just ask. What's Jarvis going to do, turn him down?

Maybe. He might. He has a life, back in England. He has other plans. Tony was this, this tiny part of his life. He doesn't get to make the final call. He will never mean as much to Jarvis as much as Jarvis means to him, it's just, it's physics, really. Math. 

"Would you," Tony begins, clearing his throat "I mean. When you're not busy, we should do this again. Unless you're busy all the time, then. Then I guess this is goodbye. Uh, again."

Jarvis frowns. "Tony, I'm never busy."

Right, but that's not answering his question. "Sure," he says lightly "so I can see you again?"

"Tomorrow? For lunch?"

"Oh." Tony says, because that's it. That's how simple it is. Jarvis isn't this, this far off figure, this elusive idea of a man. He's real, and he's here. And if Tony wants to see him, well, then he can.

So he crumbles. "Why'd you have to go?" He blurts "Why'd you have to do that? Why -- why couldn't you have called? Written? I know it's, there were reasons, fuck, I know that, but I was so, so -- I thought you were dead, and I got that letter the day of my parents funeral. I thought, when Obie gave it to me, I thought it was you saying you were coming to get me. Was that stupid? God, that was stupid. In that split second I convinced myself you were coming back, and I was almost grateful they had died, did you know that? Because at least then you had to come back, because they couldn't leave me, I couldn't really just be, be left alone, that couldn't happen, not, not -- "

"I'm sorry!" Jarvis says again, and this time his whole body bends with it. "Tony, you don't understand, you'll never understand how, how sorry I am. It hurt, it hurt to leave you, to leave my -- my son, to leave the only person I'd ever known who I loved unconditionally. And you were so young, and so misguided. And I would gladly take any blame for what's happened since on my shoulders, because it wouldn't have happened, not if I had warned you about Obadiah, not if I hadn't assumed your father," he spits "would ever really be there for you. He promised me, Tony, he promised me he would help you, and all you got was a half-assed attempt to stop you from drinking well I'm sorry. I'm sorry for that. And if there's anything I could ever do to -- "

"Make it up? Make it up to me? Stop it, you don't have to. You already gave so many years to just, to raising me, I mean -- Steve, who does that? This man raised me, who raises another man's son? Who does that willingly -- "

"I'm not going back." Jarvis says. "To England. And I should have told you sooner. I'm leaving. I'm staying here. And if you -- Tony, if you don't want to see me, it's okay. I don't have to be a part of this. I don't have to force myself into your family if you don't -- "

Tony is distantly aware that this may be one of the most dramatic, ridiculous things he's ever brought upon himself. "Stop," he says, pinching his nose "just stop. Jarvis -- "

He looks at Steve, and then back to Jarvis. Considers everything.

What is the best thing he could do?

"I think," Tony says "maybe if we meet for lunch. That would be good, wouldn't it?"

"Lunch." Jarvis replies slowly. "Tomorrow. Yes, I think it would."

"Fine. Steve and I are going home now. But I will... see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow." Jarvis confirms.

"I'll have a car pick you -- "

"I'll take a cab." Jarvis says firmly.

"I'd really feel better if I sent a car."

"Tony I'm seventy, I can navigate the city."

Tony chews his lip. "And you'll -- one o'clock."

"On the dot."

"Maybe the -- "

"Italian of fifth."

"Right." Tony says, glad the words have been taken out of his mouth. He smoothes his damp palms on his pants. "Tomorrow." He says, holding out his hand.

Jarvis looks at it, and then back at him. "Tony." He says softly.

So they hug. It's slow, lacking the excitement of their first reunion. But it's familiar. Jarvis no longer holds him; his hands curl in Tony's jacket, like he's afraid of letting go.

Jarvis feels warm. He smells like lemons and vanilla. Still so tall, but somehow more diminutive. Or maybe Tony's just grown.

They pull away; Jarvis cups Tony's cheek. He slaps his shoulder, and then shakes Steve's hand. They leave, walking slowly to the car, low murmur of conversation following them out.

But before they go, Tony heads back. He drags a couch over to the fireplace, rests one foot on the mantlepiece, and carefully lifts the grand oil painting off it's hook. It hasn't been moved in years, the wood underneath is five shades lighter than the wall around it. 

He brushes it off; him, Howard, Maria. He'll take it now; he doesn't want to leave it behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuck i'm sorry this took so long. Probably one chapter left to go, should be up tomorrow or the day after or, most likely, the day after that. 
> 
> idk. i'm pretty sure there's about ten people still reading this by now, so thanks for sticking with it. i know it's been ridiculously dragged out, sorry. I guess i kinda got rolling with it and didn't want it too stop. i know it's really long winded, i probably should have stopped writing ages ago. i'm sorry if you've been waiting for ages and this is just the most awful ending. i'm trying to give everything closure but it's not that great. anyway. one chapter left to go!


	144. Chapter 144

Five days later:

A small reception, a clerk. Steve and Tony, one in Armani, the other in military dress, say their vows. Or at least, sign their paper.

Not many guests, no one outside their circle. Natasha and Bucky, standing side by side as witnesses, Clint and Jan. Bruce. Thor, Jane, Rhodey and Carol, hand cradling her belly. Pepper, Happy, hand in hand, smiling. Bennett, Tony's long-suffering publicist. The new Resilient team.

Jarvis, too. He wipes his eyes with his handkerchief, keeps his head down. At first, he sits apart from the rest, until Rhodey shakes his hand, and they talk. After, all of them go back to the tower.

Steve and Tony are married.

 

And after the wedding night, they lie in bed. Tony rests his head on Steve's chest, Steve's hand tugs through his hair. "We made it." He murmurs, and Tony smiles. He feels his eyes close, his heart bursts in his chest. It's excitement, it's jubilation. He didn't know it was possible to feel this happy and be aware of it.

Tony reaches up. He presses another, loose, kiss to Steve's lips. He smiles lazily against his mouth. "My husband is so handsome." He purrs, and the laughs, eyes crinkling. He buries his head on Steve's shoulder, hands running over his head and fisting in his hair.

"Mine isn't so bad," Steve says into his ear "he's got an awful sense of humour though."

Tony looks offended. "Really? Oh my God, he sounds like an ass."

"He's not all bad," Steve says, coming down for another kiss "but between you and me, I'm only with him for the money."

Tony slaps him round the head. "Look who's got the shitty humour now."

"Honestly, I'm just here for the lifestyle. You know how much material goods mean to me."

"You take the joke and you lay it on the ground and your run it over ten times with a steamroller. I get it, I'm amazing, shh. Just snuggle."

"Just snuggle." Steve repeats, sighing. His fingers take up their toying with Tony's hair. For a while, they fall into quiet.

"I've told you before," Steve says quietly "I've said that it was worth it, for you."

Tony doesn't make a sound but he stills slightly under Steve's ministrations. "Worth it." He says flatly.

"The ice. It was worth... that. For you. If I get to be here with you then... I don't regret a thing."

"You lost a lot of good people." Tony says, voice low. "You lost -- you know who you lost."

"I know." Steve says simply. "And not a day goes by where I forget it. I can't change it, though. I can't take it back. And being with you -- " Steve's hand rests on Tony's head "makes it, makes it better."

"Better."

"Tony," Steve says softly "I don't talk about it, okay? I don't. Because I think I'm finally free of it. But when I woke up, after the ice, after -- even after Insight, Rumlow, Pierce, everything. I didn't feel real. Does that make sense, does that -- " Steve swallows "you know?" He says, voice weak. "When you don't, you don't feel real? And I go through the motions and I, I don't know, I'm playing this role, but it's someone else's script? Do you, I mean, you of all people, you'd understand -- "

"Steve?" Tony says, voice thick, twisting on the sheets. "Steve, oh Steve, honey no, it's okay. It's okay, please don't -- c'mon. You know I hate it when you cr -- you know I hate this. Please."

"But you need to know." Steve says, sucking in a breath, head bowed, hands clasping Tony's fingers within his. "You need to know how, how perfect, how -- how amazing you are, to me, Tony. Because you are, you are, and I -- I don't know what I'd do if -- if -- "

"Shh." Tony says sharply. "Don't. Don't say that, because it doesn't matter. I'm not going anywhere and neither are you."

"Not the point," Steve says, looking up. "Not the point. I'm trying to tell you -- I'm trying to say, I never -- I didn't see anyone, I didn't even, Tony I was waiting to die. I was waiting for the right mission to come along, and I was waiting to just die. Go down in the line of duty. And then, there would be nothing."

Tony is quiet. "Okay." He says, gently.

"So listen. When Pepper found me and Nat, and she said, she explained what we'd done when we released those files -- it was another mission. Just one more. And I tried to fool myself into thinking I was doing it because I wanted to help you out of the goodness of my heart but honestly I was just thankful to have something official. I was, I was living in Nat's apartment, I didn't even have my own place. After what happened I couldn't ever be bothered to -- after Bucky, I mean. I just -- " Steve makes a frustrated noise, wiping his eyes furiously. "I had nothing, understand? Nothing. And then you. You took that away. So when I say, when I say 'you're worth it' you have no idea what I could really mean. Because the ice took away my entire life and, and pushed me into this monotonous hell, and you pulled me out. You did."

Tony stares. And then he nods, slow, getting faster. "I did," he says "I did. I know, sweetie, because you saved me. Steve you saved me and -- "

"I saved you?"

"Clearly there was mutual salvation going on." Tony says, laugh escaping him in a huff, eyes wet. He strokes Steve's cheek. "But we're together."

"We are."

"And we're not -- " Tony sucks in a breath "I'm happy. I'm so happy. And you're happy. And I'm awful at this, I know, but Steve, what else matters?"

"Nothing." Steve says fiercely. "Nothing in the whole fucking world. As long as we're happy then nothing at all."

They kiss; Tony's hands on Steve's head, Steve fingers curling over Tony's cheeks. They pull apart, and Steve tugs Tony into a hug, tight, bruising.

They stay that way until the sun begins to rise.

 

And then, the morning after.

Tony sits at the kitchen table; coffee, eggs, tablet. He scrolls lazily, dressed in sweats and a blanket.

Steve is frying something sweet by the stove. When Tony stretches, he sees Natasha and Bucky, curled in the morning light.

Bucky is sleeping, head resting on Natasha's lap. Her her head is tilted back, eyes half closed. Her fingers play gently with the new, short locks on Bucky's head.

But she sees him looking; she nods, once, and closes her eyes. Tony turns back to his station. Steve slides the pancakes onto the table. Jan breezes through, takes three, and winks, heading back to Clint's bedroom.

A heavy hand on his back. "Tone," Rhodey yawns "how are you doing, man?"

Tony smiles. "Not bad."

"Fun night?"

"Oh, the best."

Steve clears his throat loudly from where he's mixing batter. Tony lets his eyes slide to Rhodey's in a way that's familiar, in the same way they've shared looks for years. Rhodey snorts, shaking his head. "I'm heading out," he says "but Carol wanted to take you boys to dinner later?"

"How's that sound, Steve?" Tony says, flicking through the tablet.

"It sounds fine. Pancake?"

Rhodey declines, clapping Tony on the shoulder one more time. "You've got your man whipped." He mutters in his ear before leaving.

"You can tell Rhode's I heard that." Steve says, flipping a pancake with particular skill.

"I don't think he care either way." Tony yawns, stretching out on the table and laying his head on his arms. "So," he says "whole day to ourselves."

"You may actually be the worst newly-married couple I've ever seen." Bruce says, walking past, helping himself to a whole carton of orange juice, and leaving as fast as he came.

Tony doesn't think so. He just thinks he and Steve have been through so much they may as well have been married for a long time. They've skipped right past the honeymoon period.

"I'm gonna be honest, Steve-o, I'm flat out for something new to do."

Steve sighs his long-suffering sigh. He shakes the can of whipped cream, sprays it onto his waffles. Exhaling, he dips his finger into the mountain of cream and sucks, slow. He ponders. "I can think of a few ideas." He grins.

"You're dirty." Tony says bluntly, ears heating. "Did anyone else see that? Natasha? This man is dirty. He is absolutely filthy to the cor -- oh, but didn't we get that caramel sauce too?"

 

And then again. Later that day, freshly showered and still deliciously sticky, Tony slumps into his office, spins in his chair. There are things he needs to do, but they're not urgent. He decides to waste the hours before dinner doing important things, like surfing the web and making cities out of pencils and bluetack.

But he can't stop thinking about what Jarvis said.

There's a draw, right there, by his knee. And inside, there are a few things. A few, precious objects, that he was able to salvage, through college and moving and then his house being destroyed. Howard's flask. The check he gave him, when he was just fourteen. A picture of him and Jarvis, Whitney's book, a birthday card from Ty for his eleventh birthday.

His mother's letter.

His fingers are itching. Twenty-five years have been and gone, and he's never felt an urge like this. He opens the draw, closes it. Goes back to his screen. Ten minutes later, it's open again, and the letter's in his hand.

The paper is so worn. His name is written is delicate script. Anthony. Tony realises he doesn't even recognise his mother's handwriting. Was she left-handed? God, what hand did she write with? What was her favourite colour? Favourite season? Did she play sports? Is Tony like her at all?

He doesn't know. He probably never will.

But it could be in this letter.

What reason does Tony have not to read it? Is he truly that removed from what his mother thinks? If that's the case, surely he should be able to read it without caring, right? It shouldn't be so difficult. Why can't he just read the damn thing?

Because what if it says something he doesn't want to hear.

What if it tells him what he always knew.

He doesn't want to have to hear his mother say she doesn't love him. He remembers her touch, sometimes. Soft hands on his brow, soft words. She used to let him climb into her bed, sometimes, on good days. She must have felt something.

She couldn't have hated him.

But sometimes she could be so cruel, and wasn't that the clincher? More than Howard, and Howard once smashed his head in with a bottle. When Maria said it, it didn't hurt, not as much as when Howard insulted him, but that's because he wanted Howard's love. With Maria, with Mom, when she aimed those comments at him, it wasn't throwaway, like his Dad. It wasn't because she didn't care, it's because she wanted them to hit their mark.

And he was just a kid. He was so young. What did he know? When his mother's mood got low all he saw was the woman who didn't love him, the woman who used to let him climb into his bed turn cold, removed. The woman who, on her good days, could shout even Howard Stark down. Who was brave, and fierce, and beautiful.

Who died, for association to a man who didn't love her the way she deserved to be loved. Maria had lost people. She lost her family, her brother. Her children. Eventually, she lost Tony too.

Tony thumbs the edge of the envelope, runs it over his hands. She deserved better.

He carefully breaks the sealing.

 

"Tony?" Steve calls, making his way down the corridor. "Tony? You ready? The car's waiting in the -- oh."

Tony spins slowly, curling round to meet Steve. "Hi." He says.

"Hi," Steve replies weakly "Tony, you're not even dressed."

"Shit. I lost track of time."

Steve's eyes travel from the letter open on the table to Tony. And then back to the letter. "Is that -- "

"It's nothing." Tony says. "It's... nothing."

"Is it something we need to cancel for?"

Tony pauses. "Nah," he says swiftly, folding it away and shutting it in drawer. "C'mon. Let's go."

"What was in the letter?"

Tony lips curl in a soft smile. "Nothing."

"Clearly it was -- "

"Nothing that -- " Tony clears his throat "nothing you should worry about. Or me, for that matter. Nothing -- " Tony exhales, laughs, slightly "nothing to worry about there at all."

He passes Steve through the door. "Make sure you lock up." He says "I'll meet you in the car."

Steve blinks after him. He looks at the desk. At the drawer. At the place where the letter sits.

He is so, so tempted.

And then the moment passes. Tony isn't concerned, and neither is he. He closes the door behind him, thumb swiping over the pad, and the sound of the automatic lock ringing behind him.

 

And so.

Stumbling home, hand in hand, walking through the lazy late-night summer heat. Carol and Rhodey had driven home earlier, but Steve and Tony had decided to take the long way back.

It's nearly dawn by the time they arrive home.

Steve puts some coffee on to boil. Tony yawns. He steps out into the mild air of the balcony, New York spread out beneath him. This city.

His home.

The sun catches on the mirrored buildings, strong and sure. Tony blinks against it, the sudden, first cracks of bright light sweeping across the sharp walls of the city. Tony stretches, leans softly against the barrier, coffee hot in his hand.

There's something; something in the lazy hum of the air. Something strange about the still, smooth scene. For a moment, time stops. The early morning cars stop driving, the planes freeze in space. The sun, travelling over the world, pauses in it's journey.

Time hangs, measured by the glint of gold streaming down from the sky.

And then, on the horizon, the first hint of blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HIT 'NEXT CHAPTER' YOU'RE ALMOST AT THE FINISH LINE


	145. Epilogue

It ends like this:

Tony sits in the shade of his mother's trees.

The builders will be coming in soon, stripping the whole place down. They'll be taking out the furnishings and starting the renovations. Keeping the most of it, but there'll need to be new labs installed. His father's workshop, once used to design weapons of mass destruction, is now going to be home to a set of state of the art classrooms.

Tony himself is enjoying the last of the summer breeze. Pencil in hand, he's scribbling his plans. He can't quite map the universe, but he can sure as hell try. In front of him are the first specs for what will be the start of the Resilient space program, starting with satellites, and moving on to something bigger. They've already put a man on the moon. Tony's aiming bigger. How about Asgard?

It's easy work, nothing too strenuous. It's the best part of creating, the conception. The part where you sit down and imagine everything that could be before you have to come back down to reality. Is it possible to launch two satellites at the same time using a high-tensile fibre? Probably not. But goddamn if he doesn't try to launch those rockets using what is essentially rubber band anyway.

He phone buzzes. It's Steve; he'll be coming home tonight. Tony has so much planned. And by so much, he means ordering in a curry and watching TV until either one of them falls asleep. Once upon a time a fun night meant a bag of coke and six women. He's turning tame in his old age.

It's easy to sleep, here. Supported by the tree, the roots thick and sturdy under his legs. Not that he will; he's simply stating a fact. There's a soft wind and he's warm. Closing his eyes, he can imagine the stars stretching out in front of him, the last mystery solved. It's unrealistic, but when's that ever stopped him?

And so.

Tony sits in the shade of his mother's trees. There's a light breeze; a leaf falls, skin showing the first signs of autumn. 

 

** The End**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that concludes 'Sad Men Crying'.
> 
> No but seriously. I can't believe I actually finished this. If you're still reading, then thank you! Apologies again for the ridonkulous length. I can only assume you enjoy angst as much as I do.
> 
> I wonder if any of you have the song this is based on? It's, big surprise, called [Blue Lips](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ccZuKOTb6ug/), and it's by Regina Spektor.
> 
> I won't have anything big coming out for awhile on account of my very big very important examinations, but there should be some more small things like the 'held' verse and some other stuff.
> 
> Again, if you actually read all of this, thank you!! I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I did writing it.
> 
> If you've liked this story even a little bit over the past seven or so months, you can comment or drop me an ask in my tumblr!! (which is below this somewhere) Anything you can give is appreciated, just so I know I haven't wasted ALL my time in vain!
> 
> EDIT: I just realised I never explained why Fucknut was so big. Damn. I should have given him more screentime in the epilogue. Why didn't I write him in? Okay just imagine he was there the whole time, like, he was this big snoozy lump who was resting on Tony's lap while he sketching. Also, originally he was supposed to be a St Bernards/Golden Retreiver mix who just ate too much, but you can think of him as, I don't know, a descendent of Cosmo the spacedog. Or, he can be the secret hero of this whole story. How did Bucky know how to save Tony from those assassinations? Fucknut. Why didn't Jarvis tell Tony about Obadiah? Was it because the author was lazy, and didn't see her own plotholes? No. It was Fucknut. How, you may ask. I don't know. He is the silent guardian. The eternal protector. He watches over us through the ages, Tony Stark's companion through all his adventures. When he dies, he's simply reincarnated as another, overly large, dog. Maybe this story is really the story of Fucknut. Who knows. Not me. It's not like I wrote the thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are GREATLY APPRECIATED and if you have any questions or prompts find me on MY NEW writing blog [romanoff](http://writingromanoff.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Posting days are everyday, basically.


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